You Might Die Trying
by kandisi
Summary: Angela summons nine acquaintances to the Petrelli Mansion in order to discuss the events in Central Park, but then she is murdered. The blame is pointed upon Sylar, but *is* he truly the culprit, or *did* someone else have motive...?
1. Act I: To Change the World

**Title:** You Might Die Trying  
**Characters/Pairings:** Angela, Peter, Sylar, Noah, Matt, Mohinder, Hiro, Ando, Claire, Tracy, a little Peter/Sylar, implied Arthur/Angela and Kaito/Angela  
**Rating:** M15 / somewhere between PG-13 and R.  
**Summary:** Angela summons nine acquaintances to the Petrelli Mansion in order to discuss the events in Central Park, but then, she is murdered. The blame is pointed upon Sylar, but is he truly the culprit, or did someone else have motive?  
**Warnings:** Dark themes, angst, character death, mild violence, mild language, long, some ill-timed humor, some alcohol use, and some SLASH of the Pylar variety and possible subtext elsewhere  
**Timeset:** Post-season 4 with some random implications from the graphic novels.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes in any way shape or form, and do not make any money off writing this; it was just for fun and to pass free time.

**A/N:** A more appropriate title for this fic would probably be "Heroes Meets Clue", lol... though this fic is not quite as comedic as that film in most parts.

This was actually based on a dream I had way back in June, though it was much different since the dream sort of took place in an airport. But, yes... I decided to write another non-school related murder mystery, and I haven't done as such in fanfiction since 2003... I really do apologize if anything resembling this has been written in this particular fandom; I haven't had time for the internet in around half a year now, and thus haven't been reading much fanfic, though I do plan on catching up when I can.

I am sorry if Angela's tone and manner of thinking seem a little creepy in this. Also, while I did throw in the Pylar at the end, their relationship is not the primary focus of the fic.

I was going to leave Angela's murder in this a mystery, too, until after it took place, but my reinstated beta-reader insisted it was very obvious when I inquired about it, lol. She didn't catch the killer, but maybe one of you guys can. ;)

As this is so long, I'll post the three Acts as three separate chapters.

Well, read on if you'd like. :)

**You Might Die Trying  
**ACT I  
_To Change the World_

Angela Petrelli sighed most indifferently.

This was going to be another insufferably long night, wasn't it?

She sat behind a rosewood desk in the eerie upstairs study of the Petrelli Mansion, once more wondering why she had ever returned there. She had departed from the sacred mansion in favor of a local apartment on an occasion which felt to be so long ago now. She remembered she had once contemplated selling her valued estate, first after her late husband's supposed death, and then again after Nathan's. The mansion reminded her. It reminded her of the good times, and the bad. However, the bad memories were not the painful ones; the good ones were. Nothing was more painful than looking back on something one loved and once had, only to know they could never again possess nor experience its joys.

Angela knew a well-bred woman of sixty-four should not be thinking in such a way, but she did nevertheless.

She looked down upon the custom-carved desk; one which had been in the family for several generations, and as Angela looked down, she stared closely upon the list of calligraphically written names she had made out with a felt-tip pen as they read...

_1. Peter Petrelli_

_2. Noah Bennet_

_3. Claire Bennet_

_4. Matt Parkman_

_5. Mohinder Suresh_

_6. Hiro Nakamura_

_7. Ando Masahashi_

_8. Tracy Strauss_

_9. Gabriel "Sylar" Gray_

Oh, there were others Angela knew she could have included. Perhaps the girl at work Peter was interested in whom Sylar had later aided to. Perhaps the man from the diminished carnival whom Peter had once borrowed the lightening speed from. Perhaps other former members of Samuel Sullivan's failed human cavalcade, even.

But no. The ones on her list were the ones who had been there since the beginning, with the notable exception of Miss Strauss, but she had stepped into Niki's shoes long ago on the field in so many words; two of them being 'Nathan's bed'. Angela knew the time to mourn her eldest son's departure had come and gone a long time ago, but again, the memories. The good memories. The ones that hurt.

The bad memories only served to upset Angela; particularly the most devastating and perhaps obvious one of all. _It_ being the recollection of having walked into that lavish hotel room against Parkman's protests to see Nathan in that chair. Throat slashed. Lifeless. Another of Sylar's many casualties, only he was the victim who was meant to have been Sylar's real rise into power. However, Sylar had finally become nothing more than his own victim that time around. Good. It had served him right.

Angela very well knew how it worked by now. Some of the worst things imaginable were done with the best intentions. That's just how it was, and how it would always be. All of The Company founders had known this, and as the original company's last remaining founder, she once again realized how this simple knowledge made her neutral in a world full of good people, and bad people.

Neutral people were _always_ the most deadly of all.

The elder woman brushed a strand of dark, reddish brown hair away from her likewise dark eyes, and stared downwards upon the list again. They would all arrive soon enough. This was all the fault of her stubborn little granddaughter, anyhow. What had she been thinking? Jumping off of that Ferris Wheel in Central Park for chrissake. Heaven and hell alike had both been smiling that night. It was a neutral act the girl had performed; but a bad thing done with good intentions.

But now, in a matter of weeks, more weeks, things would be out of control. Evolved humans, first in the United States and then all around the world, were going to start revealing themselves to the public eye, and then, no one would be safe. It was going to be as Angela had dreamed. This gathering – it was also something Angela had foreseen. Parts of it, anyway. The dreams never revealed the exact occurrences of a future yet to come, but rather clips of a basic scenario clouded with mystery and hidden meanings. So yes, the others would arrive.

One. Peter. He would go on, on and on, about how he was going to try and fix the situation. Fix it while actually being 'able' to get out of his own way.

Two. Noah. He would go on, on and on, about what he was going to do protect his adoptive daughter. What he was going to do to keep her safe 'this' time.

Three. Claire. She would go on, on and on, about how what she had done had been her choice to make. How she shouldn't have to 'pretend' to be something she was not.

Four. Parkman. He would go on, on and on, about how he just wanted to be a happy family man with his wife and son. How he wanted to live a 'normal' life.

Five. Suresh. He would go on, on and on, about how he did not want to get involved in anything again. How he wanted to 'fade' back into the background and the heritage he had originated from.

Six. Hiro. He would go on, on and on, about what he could do to help without having to step on a butterfly. How he was going to 'save' the world again.

Seven. Ando. He would go on, on and on, about how Hiro had to remain strong. How he was going to help Hiro fulfill his 'destiny' yet to come.

Eight. Tracy. She would go on, on and on, about her already hectic life and how she did not have time for this all over again. How she couldn't 'deal' with the sheer lunacy.

Nine. Sylar. He would go on, on and on, about his transformation through redemption. How he was going to 'change' for the better in time.

Ten. Angela herself. She would _not_ go on, on and on. She would _not_ go on about an ever-changing future again. She would go on to the 'point', the 'point' being the _present_.

The doorbell rang.

Lovely. Who would it be?

There were no servants roaming about the halls on this evening. Angela had never quite liked the servants, not when her life required the sheer confidentiality anyone greater than God himself required. She didn't think like that anymore, not about God at least, but she did want to maintain her utmost privacy. Especially on a night like this. She was sophisticated, and not lazy, after all. She had come of age, but she could answer a simple door any time she wished. No servants for that.

Angela stood, wearing a proper white outfit with black buttons and fur outlining at the collar. It was summertime, but she was expecting company and had to remain of dignified appearance. She left the study, though not in a hurried manner, and treaded through the hall, down the stairs, and then to the doorway. The bell rang once more as it had several times prior, and Angela opened the front door.

She looked through the ebony grille door's intricate designs, to see exactly who she had expected to arrive first. It was the first one on her list, but why wouldn't _he_ be?

Angela unlocked the second knob, and her remaining son entered the place he had once called home. He appeared ever so tired again, wearing the ever so worn paramedic's uniform of his. Surely Peter could have dressed more appropriately on such an important night.

"Hey, Mom. Sorry if I'm too early."

"Do not fret it, dear," replied Angela. "One of your upbringings should always know the true validity of punctuality."

Peter nodded, but he seemed a tad annoyed. Of course. Peter had never liked it when his mother had used those words: 'of your upbringings'. Peter had never valued money, wealth, fame. He had never liked his family's rich, snotty friends, sitting at the dinner table on the back porch with their fancy champagne and their pointless gossip relating to other snotty people. He valued simple security, and the bare necessities. He valued his own stubborn pride, the pride of making his own way to show he _could_ get out of his own way.

"What exactly is this about?" Peter then asked, walking at his mother's side as they headed for the den. "I don't want to have to turn down an extra shift tonight. You know how much I need the money."

Angela sighed. "Peter, you do not desire the money. You desire to save people, and you do know it. Money means absolutely nothing to you."

Once again, Peter appeared mildly irritated. "I may not be ridden with a desire for it, but I do have to pay the rent. I'm not a lawyer."

"I actually thank God for that now," Angela admitted, as she led Peter into the lavish living area's confines where he took a seat on one of two identical couches. Angela herself remained standing as she was. "Had you followed in your father's footsteps as he had wished, I fear you may have broken down into tears your very first case."

The bothered look on Peter's face was still persistent. "Why do our conversations always amount to this? Everything you say to me is either a reference to the past, or the future. What about now?"

"You're here now, just as I am, and I assure you, Peter, the present is _all_ that will matter tonight..."

"I know you, Mom. Something's not right. You didn't just ask me here because you wanted to talk about my life as it is now. You've been dreaming again, and hiding things from me again. We've been through this many times before. If you give me even the _smallest_ hint about something, I am going to find out the full story behind it whether you like it or not."

Angela nodded. "Yes, dear. That went ever so well for you last time. Tell me; was it a wonderful dream, Peter?"

"What?"

"Tell me. Was it good? The five years you spent with Sylar behind the wall. Was it satisfactory? To your liking? Did you enjoy it?"

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"No, do tell, Peter. Last time you went against my wishes and decided to find out the full story behind my smallest hint did you enjoy the consequences? Did you enjoy your dream with Sylar, dear?"

"I don't know what in the hell that is supposed to mean." Peter nearly leered. "Of course I didn't enjoy it. That wasn't a dream, it was a _nightmare_."

"Yes, Peter," Angela said, concurring with her son. "That's in all actuality my point. Dreams of the future are never dreams by definition – they are always nightmares in the end. It works the same way as life itself does. You can't get to a dream without going through a nightmare."

"I don't even understand that." Peter sighed, his head tilting back. He appeared exhausted, once again. "I get that no one's life is a perfect dream, but still..."

"Everyone has to go through hell to get to heaven, Peter."

"Oh," he replied, growing ever so tired of his mother's endless metaphors. Angela knew, however, that metaphors had always been the only way she could ever get Peter to understand anything she tried to explain in more than two sentences. It was a cruel thought, Angela knew, but Peter had never been a genius. If only the boy could learn to think with his head and not his heart for a change.

"That's a very nice way of looking at it." Peter added on, "I love the idea of watching people suffer endlessly for their entire lives just so it can mean something _after_ they die."

"Enough squabbling," Angela insisted nonchalantly. "I can't remember the last time you and I had a normal conversation."

Peter shrugged. "I guess because we've never been normal."

Angela nearly rolled her eyes. "Oh Peter, you are the only family I really have now, and I am the only family you have. Don't bring Claire into this; you know what I mean. What are you going to do when I am gone?"

"Attend yet _another_ damn funeral, I would guess."

"You watch your tone around me."

Peter huffed, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "I'm... sorry, Mom. Really, I am. I'm just so tired... I haven't slept in what feels like days, years even. It's like the nightmare, the one that was... real but not real... I didn't sleep for years then. When I... first entered Sylar's worst nightmare, and he told me it had been three years, I remembered what I had learned about dreams when I was a kid. You know, how you can have a dream that amounts to pages on paper when it really lasted for no more than a few seconds in your head."

"That is very true."

"All I do now is work..." Peter continued, averting his eyes to the wall behind Angela. That damn wall. "That's not what's tiring me, though. I don't think so, anyway. I'm never tired on the job. The real exhaustion sets in when I'm standing around in my apartment, doing nothing. I'll try to sleep, but I can't. I'll keep thinking about how someone out there could be dying for the reason that I was not there to save them..."

"How many times must we go over this? You cannot save everyone. It is not in your power."

"I know... Hesam tells me that every day. He asked me to go to this stupid bar again. Houlihan's. I told him no again, and he said he was finally ready to give up. He thinks I'm nuts, I know it. They all do. I'm sick of it, Mom..." Peter said, his words trailing a little. "I'm so sick of everyone thinking there's something wrong with me just because I don't want to waste my time. When I was a kid everyone thought I was weird, when I was a teenager they thought I was a freak, and when I became an adult I was suddenly mentally ill."

"You are just special, Peter."

Peter did roll his eyes upon hearing that. "Great, that's the perfect excuse. I'll tell everyone that I'm not nuts; I'm just 'special'. Then the new rumor flying around the hospitals won't be about how I staged accidents this time around, or how I'm shoplifting drugs from the dispensary. It'll be about how I rode the short bus to school."

Angela sighed once more. "Don't be so naïve. If you truly want your colleagues to think of you as a normal person, you are going to have to act like you are one. Being antisocial does have a textbook definition now. That said, you are more than likely portraying yourself to everyone outside of your little world as a sociopath."

Peter stood up. "That's it; I'm not listening to any more of this. God, I don't know why I even came here. Sociopath my... ugh. Tell you what, why don't you spend five years alone in silence listening to nothing and no one but an _actual_ sociopath, and we'll see how far your social skills go afterwards?"

"You were no different before. Now sit, Peter," Angela said with a touch of maternal firmness in her voice. "You are here for a reason. Tonight we must discuss matters at hand."

Peter remained suspicious. "Like what exactly? Tell me. What have you seen this time? What aren't you telling me?"

Angela looked into her son's eyes, her expression warning. "Do it, Peter. Take my ability again if you feel you must. You won't have time to dream tonight's future. Perhaps, however, you will finally learn the lesson Sylar was forced to find out the hard way: that the next ability you take might just lead you into the very fires of hell."

"I'll just try to keep in mind I have to go through that hell in order to get to heaven."

"Always that smart mouth of yours... As a lawyer you would have definitely rocked the boat, so to speak."

"I wouldn't have had to rock the boat with all the waves crashing around me." Peter chuckled. "Like Nate said, if a guy had have been convicted when I thought he was innocent, I probably would have cried or something. Then Nathan would have had to sneak into dad's liquor cabinet again."

"Oh Peter..." Angela couldn't help but smile. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"

The doorbell rang again.

Peter turned his head. "Who is that?"

"It's one of the others."

"Huh? Others? Again, who is that?"

"I think I shall go and see," remarked Angela, once again making her way to the front door. If the list – however random it had been – had been accurate, perhaps it would be Noah with his Claire. Angela came upon the wooden door, and opened it fully.

"Oh my..." Angela said, having sounded extremely disgruntled. "It appears the order has been invalidated already."

"Mom, what the heck is going on?" Peter asked, walking his way to his mother's side.

Angela wasn't so quick to open the grille door this time. "I must admit, I expected _you_ of all people to arrive last."

"I didn't even know if I should bother coming here..."

"Wait a minute..." Peter muttered, then taking a few more steps forwards. Once he saw who he had alas expected to see, he was more than just a little displeased. "...What in the _hell_ is **he** doing here? Mom, what the? I don't even... Just what the hell? You actually _invited_ him to your house?"

"Calm down," Angela said, having directed her statement at Peter, "I don't want this abomination in my home any more than you wanted him in yours."

Outside, Sylar appeared none too thrilled himself. Wonderful. Angela hadn't told him Peter would be there. Great. Angela and Peter were going to give him some good ol' verbal bashing; Petrelli style. Joy. Maybe they would all sit down at the dinner table with another pumpkin pie, only this time, Sylar would be forced to endure _their_ mockeries upon _him_, rather than the other way around. This time, however, Sylar would not keep them bound in their chairs with locked lips through telekinetic restraints; no, he would do nothing.

"You said you needed to talk to me..." Sylar spoke, resenting the weakness saturating his own voice. "You said you needed my help. I should have known better. You lured me over here with more of your lies, so Peter and I could have it out again? So you could witness my death another time? What, you have a nail gun in there or something? The Haitian? Is Parkman in there too waiting to play God with my so-called non-existent soul?"

"No," Angela replied in all honesty. "No one is here but Peter and me. I don't know why you vex so. You want to see Peter again, and you know it."

"Again, what the hell is this?" repeated Peter. "Let me see if I got this right... You invited me here without telling me Sylar was coming, and you invited Sylar here without telling him I was coming... and you told the both of us you needed our help. So... Sylar and me supposed to pull another dynamic Marvel team up? Two super-powered guys who hate each other going on another limited run? Am I getting close?" he asked, sounding angered. "Jeez, I can't wait. No, possibly I can. I am _not_ getting involved in this sort of situation again. The last time I was with him I nearly lost my mind in his, and the last time the three of us were together I watched my brother transform into him before Sylar tried to kill you. This is... no, just... nah-ah, I am out this time."

Angela finally opened the other door. "It's going to rain, Sylar. Why don't you come in?"

"I... don't think I will," replied Sylar. "Peter's... right. I... I really don't want to cause trouble..."

"Oh cut the act already," Peter groaned. "What? Oh—you've changed again, that's right... I guess you're not Sylar anymore, you're 'Gabriel', and because 'Gabriel' is a good guy, I should forgive 'Gabriel' for what Sylar did."

"Don't pay any attention to him," Angela insisted, moving out of the doorway so the new arrival could enter. "Doing the right thing for a greater good is always more important than any tension one may have between oneself and one's adversary."

"I never understood how you were always able to do that, Angela," replied Sylar, a small sigh following his words as he entered the mansion. "How you were always able to make everything make sense when I could not, through the mere use of only a few words."

"This is insane," Peter said, laughing even. "Just, God. I do not know _what_ to say."

"Then say nothing," said Angela, shutting the wooden door upon Sylar's entry. "Sylar, can I get you anything? A glass of red wine, perhaps?"

Peter couldn't help it. He laughed again. "Oh, oh wow... I am loving this. Mom, you and 'Gabriel' go take a seat in the dining room. No, don't you two trouble yourselves. I'll go break out the boozes and we can have ourselves a little 'homecoming' party. In fact, why stop there? We can all go out to dinner! One of those fancy French restaurants where you have to order for me because I can't understand what's on the menu. After that, we'll all come back here, and 'Gabriel' can stay the night, in _Nathan's_ old room. Does that sound good?"

"Peter..." began Sylar, "I have no intention of trying to take Nathan's place in your life. I've told you this before. I just didn't want you to feel so alone, that's all."

Peter laughed once more, before his laughter halted in a sudden instance. "Alright. You just get one thing straight. If you try anything funny, and I mean _anything_, be it cutting open heads to so much as _thinking_ about pulling the little trick where you toss a few of my brother's stolen memories at me, I am _going_ to make you _wish_ I had left you in that hell of yours."

"You could take me to a torture chamber," Sylar said in response, "and I still wouldn't wish that."

Angela looked down at her watch, some old family heirloom of hers. It was less than an hour until 7:00 P.M. now; it wouldn't be long before the others began to arrive one after the other.

"Peter, show him into the dining room if you will. I'll make myself useful and fetch the good wine. I'd let you do it for yourself as you had suggested, but I am afraid I can't have you smashing one of my late husband's bottles of 1976 Charles Noellat Richebourg on Sylar's head. It would be a waste."

Peter groaned again, and then, looked back up at Sylar. "C'mon, let's go..."

Peter began ambling towards the dining room, with Sylar following closely behind him. He didn't like it. Even if he was always one step ahead, he didn't like the idea of Sylar relying on him to lead the way for another small eternity, for the lunatic had already bothered him a few times since the incident in Central Park. Calling him. Showing up. Just wanting to talk, as if Peter had yet to listen to his mouth run for years on end. Sylar had nothing left to say to Peter that hadn't already been said. Or did he? No, he did not. Peter had heard it all. A hundred times and more.

Peter had realized why so many psychiatrists had psychiatrists themselves.

When was Sylar going to realize talking to Peter was the utter equivalent of talking to a wall in their case? In fact, when Peter talked to Sylar, he felt like he was talking to a wall, too. They had both talked to a wall more than a few times.

Peter sat down at the end of the long dining table, and Sylar sat down to his right. It made Peter think horrible thoughts, the metaphorical sort his mother always used. Such as, Sylar was sitting at Peter's right-hand side, making Peter feel like he represented the devil and Sylar his right-hand, his advocate. Peter knew he was not the devil, though he knew Sylar really wasn't, either. Peter's father probably hadn't felt this way, however. Angela had always sat to Arthur's right. If the devil was not careful, his right-hand would always be the one to take him down.

"So Peter..." Sylar started off, attempting to start another one of their sorry attempts at a conversation in Peter's eyes, "how have you been?"

"Same as always."

"Can't you elaborate on that a little...? I was able to buy that response for the first couple years spent with you in my nightmare when I knew there was no present or future to talk about, but that's over now."

Peter sighed. "Fine. I got up around four this morning, was at work by six. There was another accident around nine and I watched two people die. After that, I had lunch in the ambulance with my partner Hesam. Then I had to escort a guy to a mental institution. Later, I helped a filling station robber who was shot by the cops. Then my mom called late-mid afternoon, and told me I had to come here. Thus, here I am. That's basically it."

Peter was hoping Sylar would just sit there and say nothing, but the younger man knew better by now.

"You escorted someone to a mental institution today, Peter?"

"Yes..." Peter sighed still more. "Ever since Claire's swan dive people have been jumping off of buildings and throwing themselves in front of cars trying to discover their powers. Since most of them don't have any powers, they end up on a seventy-two hour lockdown for suicidal behavior instead."

"I remember when you jumped off a building..." Sylar recalled, but then he regretted his words. Peter had warned Sylar about digging around in his brother's stolen memories. The killer-on-reform supposed he could just make sure he spoke in third person. "You weren't crazy though, Peter, or suicidal. The false rumor you went along with to cover up Nathan's indiscretions was noble but slanderous on your behalf."

"That so? Well what would you have done?"

"I would have let him take responsibility for his own actions."

"I didn't mean it like that. I meant would you have allowed yourself to be hurt in order to help someone you loved?"

Sylar looked away, and let out a single chuckle. "Once. All the times you've asked me that, and yet I still don't have a proper answer... Talking to you now is so strange. I figure it being because I know you are actually real now. When I look at you, I can finally look at you knowing it isn't any less real, even if it didn't feel any less real before."

"Sylar..." Peter wanted to groan again. He was past the point of exhaustion, though, and he was just as tired of repeating himself. Unfortunately, repeating himself was almost all there was left when it came to Sylar. "You've just... gotta stop this, okay? I can't deal with you anymore. My reaction to having had enough of you for one lifetime is very natural for anyone in my situation. I know how lonely you are, really, I do, and I also know you are afraid you are going to eventually kill someone again, but spending more time with me is not the answer to either of those problems."

Sylar thought back. "I... appreciate you putting up with me. Keeping me sane."

"Ugh..." Another groan. "We're not in a nightmare anymore, this is the _real world_, and _in_ the real world, we don't like each other."

"I like you."

"Mom!" Peter called out, just wanting to end the damn conversation already. "Are you still in the cellar?"

"I'm coming," Angela called back, soon reappearing into sight with a bottle of red wine in her hands as well as a corkscrew. She sat the bottle and the instrument down upon the table, and then proceeded to gather several of her more expensive crystal glasses from a china cabinet. When this was achieved, Angela continued with the task at hand, uncorking the wine and pouring the glasses with a favorable portion of the beverage.

Peter pushed his glass aside just as soon as his mother had presented it to him. "I only drink when there's a cause for celebration. Drinking when you're not happy only turns you into a drunk. Dad knew that much."

"And so did Nathan, if you'll remember," Angela informed, causing Peter to turn his head. Sylar accepted his glass and took a small sip of its contents just for appearance's sake. Then Angela spoke up again. "Peter, please redirect yourself from your mother's seat."

"What?"

"Show the guests a little respect, dear."

Peter huffed, and stood. Unfortunately, he didn't understand his mother's use of the word 'guests' had indeed been _plural_.

He changed seats with his mother, yielding to sit to Angela's left, directly across from Sylar. Angela sat down, and took a sip of the rather expensive Richebourg. The three of them continued to sit in silence for a little while, as Sylar and Angela partook of their drinks while Peter sat and stared. He was staring at the wall behind Sylar. He'd rather look at the wall any day than at Sylar, or so he thought.

Then, the doorbell rang once more.

Angela took another sip of her wine, set the glass down, and stood. The next of her guests was here, after all, and she did not want to keep him or her or waiting. Bad manners, that was.

Both Peter, and Sylar, had matching facial expressions; painted over in confusion.

"Mom? Who is that? What's... what's going on? First me, then Sylar, and now someone else...?"

"Angela..." Sylar then said, "I'm with Peter. What is this really about?"

"I have to go answer the door, boys." So this was Angela's simple response. So vague, so evasive. Never a straight answer with her, she knew. Just a little hint. A single letter on the crossword puzzle to get everyone running around in circles trying to solve the true enigma of it all. Angela never gave more than a hint to anyone so long as it could be helped. People had to think for themselves. They had grown so lazy now, hadn't they?

Angela left her troubled son with his lost adversary, arriving at the door. When it opened, another name on the list was mentally crossed out for the lovely Mrs. Petrelli.

"Come in, Mohinder. You won't require that umbrella on this night."

Mohinder Suresh, there he was; standing there in those black jeans and that black shirt of his. Everyone was wearing black, now. Angela had watched so many colorful people fade into black and white over the years. Alas, the white queen was far more dangerous than a dark knight.

"You say that as if you're expecting me to stay for a while..." Mohinder's words trailed a little. "What's going on? I was told this was urgent. I have a life to get back to in India; I really don't have time for this... insanity anymore."

"Last time you were at this doorstep you had my youngest son's dead body with you, so let me be the one to decide what is or isn't insane right now." Angela stepped out of the way so the young geneticist could enter. "Come, I'll show you to the dining room where the others are."

"Others? I thought you said you needed my help specifically?" Mohinder pondered the issue, following the ever-so mysterious Angela into the dining area.

When Mohinder saw both who, and _what_ was there, he dropped the umbrella from his hand.

"What in the... You can_not_ be serious! You invited me here to have _dinner_ with _Sylar?"_ This was unacceptable. So he, Mohinder, had fallen for it once again. A trained reliant on a corrupt corporation's tattered name had reeled him in for another round at some ambiguous game. Why? Why ever had he fallen for it again? As Mohinder gazed upon Sylar's appearance, an appearance taken with likewise perplexity, he fought a mental battle of self-control to keep from charging forth into the white queen's lair in order to take down another of her pawns. Sylar was clueless, Mohinder figured, but if he was there, involved with The Company, he was most certainly a pawn again.

"Relax, Dr. Suresh, have a seat anywhere you wish." Angela extended her arm, giving Mohinder a polite gesture; indicating for him to take his seat at the chess table with the other participating pawns in her strategized game. She had laid down her king long and many ago; only the pawns were left now, black and white alike.

"This is insane," Mohinder stated in disbelief, mimicking words already said, "For I am not going to sit down and have drinks with the man who murdered my father, followed by countless others. By the man who led me into believing he was somebody else only to further tarnish my sanity. I'm finally making an effort to get my life back, and I am not going to throw it away again. I couldn't care less about this bastard's sorry second round into redemption, despite anything Matt has told me. Goodbye."

"I am afraid you are going to have to stay, doctor," Angela said in a calm voice, laced with the hint of inexplicable deceit her voice always seemed to bear under a masked surface. "You cannot leave, no matter how much you may desire to."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" Mohinder questioned the heiress, the black widow.

"I am afraid my words alone speak very well for themselves, my friend. You leave, and they will come."

"What?" Peter asked from Angela's left. "Mom... what-what does that mean?" Oh, he could imagine. He could imagine what it meant all too well. Another government conspiracy she was involved in, perhaps. Had she yet to learn? She hadn't been able to hide from them before; her immunity in itself due to her inherited wealth and acquired power was always only a temporary pardon in the end.

"You are just going to have to take my word for it for now, Peter. All of you will," Angela said, her voice brushing over all three of her guests like the lightest ghost of a touch, making them shiver inwardly with concepts on the endless possibilities of her indefinite words. Angela had always had a theory she followed, those little sayings of hers. If one insisted on turning their life into a joke, then the joke was always on them. Everyone knew this – including Angela and her boys and the guest. Yes, she supposed Sylar was still her boy on a few levels.

"You had better tell _all_ of us what this is about..." Peter said, his voice grinding, having left his mouth between teeth. "I am _not_ dealing with this **shit** again."

"Don't you _dare_ speak to your mother that way," scolded Angela. A Petrelli should never result to using slander that only slandered oneself. Kaito was the most honorable man she had ever met, and he had not been able to transform his honor into immortality through his son. Hiro wasn't more naïve than Peter; oh no, Peter would always win the hero's choice award for immaturity, but Hiro was a step down from Peter, and that alone spoke for itself.

"People are coming for us again, aren't they?" Peter continued without apology. He wasn't sorry. "I bet you invited even more of us into this obvious trap of lies. So what? You going to wait until everyone arrives, and then a few Dankos and their agents bust down the door to take us away and leave you in exchange? I don't think so..."

"Do have a seat, Mohinder," Angela suggested in an insisting manner once more. "A bottle of my late Arthur's more expensive wine is on the table, so please, do treat yourself."

Mohinder then laughed, much like Peter had when Sylar had appeared at the front door. "Of course. That's exactly what I am going to do. Sit down with my best-friend, the betrayer and her son, and have a glass of fine wine. It's not as if I had wanted to go to the airport on this particular night." He hadn't wanted to go to the airport on this particular night, but Mohinder felt his rudeness for the ruse was all too appropriate.

"Very good. All is well that ends well." Angela spoke prestige and ever so polished. "Do have a seat, and the explanation you seek will come all in due timing."

Mohinder sneered with utmost disdain. Again, why? Why had he allowed himself to fall for such an entrapment all over again? He felt as if he were some sort of an addict for deception experiencing a relapse in judgment. He felt like a fool.

Angela led Mohinder to the table following the pickup and the hanging of a dropped umbrella, where Mohinder took his seat next to Peter with a sheer lack of enthusiasm. Angela didn't think Mohinder was a fool, he was just a pawn. Perhaps a card, another hand in Angela's game. Be it may, all the cards had to come into play. Then, the full house could be thrown down and Angela would come back with her royal flush.

Mohinder's eyes met Sylar's very briefly, and Sylar looked away. He stared at Peter, but again, only briefly. Peter was not going to back him up, so instead, Sylar stared at the wall behind his savior and Mohinder. The wall's expressionless expressions were more tranquil than either set of eyes.

"You wait and see, Sylar..." Mohinder said, warning his arch enemy. "I had put you behind me in my thoughts, but now that you are right in front of me in my presence I am debating whether or not to jump right over this table, slam you into the floor, and rip you apart into pieces until your very blood itself floods the floor over in various shades of crimson."

_Oh my_, thought Angela_, A little_ _shade of color to splash upon the shades of Gray. _Gray had always liked red, hadn't he?

Sylar said nothing. He was not afraid of Mohinder's threat in the slightest; rather afraid of his own doings, of facing the music as he had done so in Parkman's basement. The music hadn't been as Sylar had expected, some happy little tune playing the song of emancipation. No, it had been a dark stroke on the left-hand side of a piano, intermingled with the distant sound of a watch ticking and then fading away to signify the turning tables and his descent into hell. If Parkman could present Sylar with one form of damnation in the name of revenge, Mohinder could surely present him with another.

"I-I'm sorry, Mohinder..." Sylar attempted to apologize. "I wasn't... as I am now back then, okay? I _am_ making an effort now."

"Oh really?" Mohinder's voice played the piano, that dark forte. "So what should I refer to you as _now_, Sylar? Zane Taylor? Isaac Mendez? Perhaps Nathan Petrelli? Surely not Gabriel Gray."

"What you choose to call me has always been up to you, Mohinder," replied Sylar. "Peter taught me that it's who I _think_ I am that matters."

"Repulsive..." Mohinder said under his breath. Matt had informed him so of Sylar and Peter's little adventure in wonderland. It was a miracle Peter hadn't turned into the Mad Hatter after all of that continual time with a Cheshire Cat. Now, however, the Queen of Hearts was back in control, it seemed.

The doorbell.

"I knew it." The words had been sour upon Peter's tongue, for he was saying aloud what he had already been repeating in his mind for the past few minutes. "Who is it now, Mom? Matt? Hiro? Tracy? Or is that the agents? Oh, I guess not... Knowing you, the agents would only arrive while you were in the other room."

Angela stood from her chair once again. "By all means, Peter. Your father's gun is upstairs in the master bedroom. If it serves to comfort you in any way, go fetch and hold it to my head. I know you will not pull the trigger, and so did Nathan when he was in said situation."

"I'm sure Dad thought that, too..." Peter whispered to himself, although everyone at the table caught his words.

Angela stepped across the marble floor; her black heels clicking against the tile. Mohinder and Peter both heard the sound for what it was, but Sylar heard the clicking as a distant ticking. He needed to eradicate those thoughts from his mind _now_, or his seemingly sorry quest for salvation would be lost upon a woman who would gain a last glimmer of enjoyment from his own self-defeat.

That woman came upon the closed door, unlocking it and pulling it open. Another name on the list. Two names, in point of fact. Mentally, Angela drew a strike through the names of one's Hiro Nakamura and Ando Masahashi. Hopefully they would not strike out.

"Mrs. Petrelli?" Hiro said, and oh, Angela took in that god-awful accent. It was a lovely melody, so much like Kaito's.

"Greetings Hiro, Ando. Do come in and sit down. Have a glass of wine."

"Awesome." Ando had sounded rather excited when he had said this. _Poor boy_, thought Angela. There would be no drinking party at a strip club tonight for Ando and the dancers. Were the forsaken mansion a website, it wouldn't direct anyone to pleasure. It would just infect one's self with a virus ready to eat its unsuspecting visitor alive. Ando would pay for visiting the site, just not in yen.

"Come," Angela said, walking towards the dining room's general direction. It was not a long walk.

"What is this about, Mrs. Petrelli?" Hiro inquired. "This better not be about time-travel. I am not stepping on a butterfly again."

"I assure you, you won't be," Angela guaranteed. "When the butterfly is dead, you will not step on it this time."

"Dead?" Ando questioned. "What do you mean by...'dead'...?"

"Here we are," continued Angela, gesturing to her other guests. Her other pawns. Oh, how lost they would be without their queen.

Five sets of eyes exchanged a varied set of glances.

Peter banged his fist against the table. So childish.

Sylar remained confined to himself. So lost.

Mohinder appeared angered. So futile.

Ando took a step back. So juvenile.

Hiro reached for the sword he did not have. So dim.

Angela remained composed and perfectly at ease. So perfect.

_The party is going to get started soon, is it not?_

"Come, let us all sit down and have the good wine I mentioned before," suggested Angela with that perfect ease. "It won't be long before the general discussion gets underway."

"I... I no understand," Hiro said, his English faltering notably due to his shock. "Sylar? _Sylar_ is here? And Mohinder Suresh, Peter Petrelli... What is going on?"

"Uh, yeah," Ando added, his level of concern matching Hiro's own. "You wanted us to come here and have drinks with _Sylar...?_ Are you mad?"

Of course. Angela was ever so crazy, she supposed. They all were. They all went a little mad sometimes.

"Of course I am not," said Angela nonetheless. "Now go have a seat whilst we wait for the others."

"Others...?" Ando proceeded to go on, "There are others coming?"

"I would suggest you both teleport out of here _now_." Peter smirked, having made another suggestion. "Others are coming, all right. Coming to try to capture and take us away, but this time, I am _not_ turning my back on a family member who holds a knife in their hand."

Hiro said something in Japanese. A curse word, Angela knew.

"Peter..." Sylar said following more of his endless strands of thoughts. "I... really don't think Angela has anything like that planned. Even against fifty of them, the five of us would be _more_ than enough to raise havoc."

Peter pondered Sylar's words. "...Well what if the 'fifty of them' has 'a few of us' with them?"

"Still," continued the former watchmaker, "I don't think _she_ would be so sloppy. Even if she was, she wouldn't involve herself in the actual mess. She'd just... clean it up from afar."

That was Sylar, her boy, Angela reflected. Sylar had surely discussed her name a good many times with Peter during their experience in purgatory. Angela's hatred for Sylar far exceeded his callow admiration of her, though Sylar displayed the maturity far beyond his years whenever it came to accepting a truth he actually believed in. Angela had no choice; she had to respect that much. It was her nature.

Hiro furrowed his brow once more, for he did not know what to do. His reaction wouldn't really have been one of shock as it was, had it not been for the simple fact of Sylar's obvious presence. What was he to do now? Teleport back and forth as he had in that Odessa past in another timeline? Hiro did not know he had already taught Sylar the lesson that was Sylar's greatest fear. The opposite of thanatophobia itself; the fear of _not_ dying. Hiro had no idea of how his little tale of Sylar's false death in the form of one James Martin had triggered into the very fear of loneliness leading up to Sylar's individual halfway house.

Hiro had obtained his true revenge with words, not a sword. He just didn't know it. Hiro was _definitely_ smart enough to know something was very wrong, however. Everyone was.

"I hate to say it..." Mohinder said under his breath, "but I think... Sylar may have a point, Peter..."

"I just don't know," replied Peter, trying so hard to listen to his reason and not his emotion, "I really don't know. This is like the opposite of hunting us down. We're actually doing the 'round up' for ourselves. Doesn't it seem likely that something's up with that?"

"Of course there is," the geneticist said in agreement. "It's just... the sheer idea of _Angela Petrelli_ inviting a bloodbath into very her home... something's 'up' with that, too."

Angela returned to the table, sitting down at the end once again, her back to the direction she had come from; her back to the door. Arthur's seat was hers now. Dallas was lost in action forever.

Hiro and Ando approached the dining table.

Ando leaned in to whisper something into his best-friend's right-ear. "I'm not sitting next to him... you go."

Hiro gulped, and nodded. He was going to sit next to Sylar and show off his factual bravery. Sylar was definitely a demon from his past, but the real one was dead. Adam Monroe wouldn't be taking him to trial ever again.

Hiro finally took a seat at Sylar's right, Ando to Hiro's, and then Angela poured them both a glass of 1976 Richebourg. Angela had married into an Italian family, but the French had still been known for their great taste in fine wines. France had always been Angela's extended version of heaven in a way.

Ando picked up his glass, taking a relatively large sip, until he saw Hiro sniffing of his own wine. Ando looked at Hiro questionably.

"...It could be poison," Hiro murmured, barely audible.

Ando dropped his glass, and it nearly spilt all over the table top. "I..."

His face paled a little, and Angela sighed before speaking. "It is not poisoned. I drank from the same bottle, and I am still alive."

"In all honesty you could have outlined the crystal's exterior with something like Flunitrazepam," gathered Sylar.

Peter couldn't help it, and rolled his eyes. "Yes, then we could all sing a Ramone's song. If my mother wanted to drop something into someone's soup, she would do it, _literally_, and that would be the end of it. She wouldn't sedate us. I tried explaining the fact that those medical textbooks you read came from _my_ subconscious."

"You... speak of the nightmare land, Peter?" Hiro asked all too knowingly.

"Yes, Hiro," Peter answered. "It seems like _every_ 'one of us' knows about my trip to the 'nightmare land' now."

"Why are we talking about this when we really _do_ have more important things to worry about?" Mohinder protested, "Such as actual events currently at hand. I am not inexperienced in these matters. Now something bad _is_ going to take place tonight and I know it."

"Well that's... sort of a 'duh' thing, Mohinder," replied Peter following his small shrug. "So yes, something's definitely going down on the side."

Angela shook her head out of disapproval. "What have I tried to tell you about talking in such a way, Peter? No one else in your family has ever resorted to using the hideously ridiculous slang tossed around in those terrible 21st century satires of yours. Honestly, what with the youth's general media-based, sheer mockery of the English language, I sometimes wonder if it shall ever survive. Every word on television and the radio alike these days is almost nothing more than some useless and mutated illiteracy meant to imply distasteful sexual terms."

_Damn_. Mohinder agreed. "You are right..."

"Uh-huh," Sylar then agreed as well.

Hiro nodded, and Ando sort of shrank in his chair a little trying to keep the 'guilty' stamp on his forehead from flashing too brightly in Angela's headlights.

Peter looked around the table, and then propped his arm atop it, chin in hand. "I really don't see how anything I just said implied my love life, but I guess it could have been interpreted as such by the right persons." Everyone knew Angela hadn't liked the sound of this.

Angela eyed her son with a stern expression; matching shades of brown eyes taking one another in.

"Peter, elbows _off_ the table. Hands in your _lap_. Back _straight_."

Ando then removed his resting arm from the tabletop and sat up.

"Oh will you just stop it already?" Peter snapped like a branch with too much fruit to bear. "'A most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise breaker, the owner of no one good quality. Thus you are, noble woman.' Honestly, Mom, your sad devotion to that dead, sixteenth century culture_ is _going to be the _death_ of you if you're not careful..."

"I don't care," Angela replied strictly, "You are under _my_ roof right now. When you go back to your catastrophe of an apartment you can eat at your table hunched over decaying Chinese takeout with a cheap beer at your side as you stare at the wall some _more_ for all I care, but while you are here, you _are_ going to show some manners at the table and to my guests."

Peter took his arms off the table, and straightened up in his seat. However, his mother still seemed yet to be pleased.

"What? If there _was_ silverware on the table I'd _have_ the salad fork on one end and the soup spoon on the other. God..."

"One's wineglass goes to the right, dear."

Peter appeared awfully affronted, before he gradually slid his glass over to the right with one hand. Sylar figured Peter had wanted to toss it along with the table. Peter did have a small impulse control problem, on the other hand, so if Peter had actually _wanted_ to cause such a fuss he very well possibly may have tossed something instead of following through with his mother's seemingly incessant, correcting orders.

"So..." Sylar began, trying to redirect the subject back to yet another conversation focused on one between himself and Peter. "The textbooks specifying on particular Shakespearean Literature quotes originated from your thoughts? I had always wondered about that... I never could remember having read them for myself."

"You speak of the nightmare land again?" Hiro inquired, though not in a polite manner. This was Sylar, after all.

"Yes, actually," replied the former killer. "There were so many books, and albeit I lost count, the words are so vivid in my mind _still_ somewhere. My own, stored thoughts to an endless library of literature were what finally led me into believing an illusion of an artificial world was authenticity in itself."

"Very well spoken," Angela approved. Of course, Peter knew she would have to approve. What fool in their right mind had yet to be taken aback by Sylar's poetic flattery for the written word?

Mohinder made way to complain as he earlier had. "Can we _not_ get back into that again?"

"Why does it bother you so, Mohinder?" Sylar asked, being frank enough.

"I'll tell you why," began a discontented Mohinder, "because if you want my opinion, you don't speak as if you are recalling a nightmare of hell. You speak as if you are recalling a dream of heaven. I have an idea as to why in my _own_ subconscious, but I am _not_ going there because that is one theory of mine I am _not_ touching with a ten-foot-pole."

Ando wondered. "What theory do you speak of?"

"Again, the ten-foot-pole."

"Yes, and if that ten-foot-pole decides to explore that theory, it may become my several-inch-fist exploring someone's face if you go there," Peter warned. "I didn't like the sound of that."

Mohinder looked away from Peter, not wanting to get into an argument relating to something so superficially preposterous. No one else did, either.

"Nobody here liked the sound of your own words just now, Peter," scolded Angela. "You _have_ to _control your temper_. 'Kicking ass' was always the pawn's job; the real power thou liest with the king and queen."

"If I remember correctly, the king is also the most vulnerable piece on the board," Peter said, countering his mother once more. "You've told me time and time again how life isn't a game, so why do you keep talking about it like it _is_ one? I agree that life isn't a game, but your thoughts, your actions; they contradict your words."

The doorbell. Angela had been saved by the bell again. In her opinion, her answer to Peter's question would have taken too much time to fully explain in words bland enough to be understood by him; despite how well he had taken her by surprise with his dead-on statement.

Angela walked back to the front doorway with anticipation of yet another guest or guests, opening the door all over again to welcome another person's arrival.

"Come on in, Miss Strauss," said Angela, before Tracy stepped forth. "Let me get your coat for you, dear."

"I know it isn't cold outside," Tracy acknowledged, "but I can tell it is more than likely going to rain soon."

Angela nodded, taking the younger woman's coat for her. Tracy was wearing black slacks, and a likewise ebony vest, along with a white, button down shirt complete with a fitting, formal tie. Angela had foreseen it. Black and white yet again. Peter was currently the only one with any color, though be it not for his long hours on the job, Angela knew he would be dressed just as darkly as Sylar once again.

"Now what is it you needed to talk with me about?" Tracy asked, not wanting to waste any time. "You made it clear it was of importance, but you have yet to tell me _how_ it actually concerns me. You've only told me it does."

"This way, Miss Strauss," Angela replied – another avoidance technique for the time being. "I've been expecting you, and I'm sure the others have as well."

"Wait. Others?"

Tracy was reasonably curious, and followed Angela into the dining room. When Tracy saw the five people seated at the table, she wondered if she might freeze in the _literal_ sense.

Tracy continued to stare at the seated specials. "Angela... what exactly is the meaning of this? You didn't tell me they would be here. Is this some sort of dinner party? If so, what is _Sylar_ doing here?"

Voluntarily, Sylar shot Tracy a considerably nasty look, even though he didn't have any sort of personal vendetta against her. In reality, he was growing sick of the initial reactions everyone seemed to be having to his general presence in Angela's household. In the past, Sylar would have thought he truly _was_ the only thing they need worry about in this situation, but at the moment, Sylar knew for a fact that everyone had much bigger problems on their hands than his being there. He had no intent of hurting anyone... right...?

"Welcome to the nuthouse, Tracy."

Angela shook her head, even though Peter hadn't said this.

"I'm with you, Mohinder..." Peter _had_ said this.

Angela turned her head, once again looking at Tracy. "Please, do take your seat with the others. I'll get a glass for you."

Tracy appeared somewhat disquieted by the situation in its entirety, but she took her seat nevertheless. To even the seating arrangements out, she opted to sit next to Mohinder. He was harmless enough, now. But Sylar... just what the hell? Tracy could actually visualize Angela having invited the others – just not for a mere wine and dine session. The dinner setting was more than likely only a disguise for whatever the _real_ meaning behind the multiple invitations _was_.

"I don't have a good feeling about this, Hiro..." Ando whispered, following another sip of wine. He'd thankfully ridden the poison-scenario from his mind, at least.

Hiro whispered back, "Me either."

While Angela made another trip to the cabinets, Tracy looked around the table and said, "Does anyone here know what's going on?"

"Maybe it has to do with the Devil..." Hiro trailed.

"What?" Tracy asked, sounding a bit confused.

"I am not the Devil," Sylar said, staring Tracy in the eyes.

"Not _you_," Hiro corrected, side-glancing Sylar, "I mean Samuel Sullivan."

Mohinder begged to differ. "Samuel? I don't see how he could have anything to do with our being here."

Peter added, "Neither do I."

"Actually," Angela said as she came back to the table, "Hiro is on the right track, in a sense."

Sylar looked at Angela, and said, "If this truly is _just_ about your solution to the events in Central Park, then why the intrigue?"

Peter's brow furrowed. "Sylar, how did you arrive at that?"

"He's closer than Hiro was," Angela hinted, pouring Tracy a glass of wine.

Sylar shrugged. "If I understand things correctly, that is the only reason that makes any sense right now until Angela gives us another."

"Evil butterfly man didn't _escape_, did he?" Hiro inquired.

Angela couldn't help it; she chuckled. However, everyone at the table found it a little inappropriate.

"No, the evil butterfly man is still very much behind bars, in a sense," Angela replied.

"You keep saying 'in a sense'," complained Peter, "which indicates you obviously aren't giving us anything close to the entire story. I really am tired of your 'hints', Mom. We all are."

The doorbell rang yet again.

"Somehow I am not surprised," Mohinder said following the sound of the doorbell. "I can take a few guesses already as to who that is at the door."

"I wonder if it's Parkman..." whispered Sylar, having sounded somewhat uncomfortable at the mere mentioning of Parkman's name.

Peter locked eyes with Sylar, and gave forth his opinion, saying, "If it is, I am only going to become more... unsettled about this than I already am. You and I both know he was in Los Angeles... and for him to actually travel all the way out _here_ at my mother's request... or demand..."

Mohinder wanted to groan upon hearing Peter's words. He _had_ to say something.

"He is here, Peter... Matt contacted me a couple of days ago and said he would be in the area, but I must admit I don't know the complete story behind it," Mohinder informed the others. "He only said he would be in the city long enough to visit with me before I left Brooklyn. I had meant to inquire him about the reason behind his trip to New York, but our conversation was cut short. I did know, however, that he would not fly all the way across the country _just_ to pay me a last visit."

"I don't like the sound of that at all," replied Peter, who then sighed out of what had sounded like pure exasperation. "I can only imagine the 'complete story' had something to do with the new 'Company'."

Meanwhile, Angela was answering the door. She had heard enough of what the others had been talking about.

They had been right.

As soon as Angela had pulled the door back, she was greeted by the presence of none other than Matt Parkman.

"Good evening, Parkman. Do come in."

Matt nodded, and entered the Petrelli Mansion as soon as the outlining, grille door had been opened. However, he appeared less than thrilled to be there. Angela momentarily admired Matt's wardrobe; not in a traditional sense, she was admiring the fact that Matt was wearing a navy blue shirt with his black pants. _Finally, a little more color_, she thought.

The detective decided he didn't want to waste any time.

"All right, I'm here," he said, stating the obvious. "So what am I really needed for _this_ time?"

Angela's facial expression remained one of nonchalance, as she studied Matt's own in turn. Angela didn't need his telepathy to know what he was thinking. It was obvious. Angela wasn't worried about the possibility of Matt digging around in her head; no, she knew Parkman was trying ever so hard to stick to his personal rules regarding the misuse of his abilities. Besides, Angela's strong-will coupled with her experience in such situations made it more difficult to push or pull thoughts on or from her, even if she had come to realize how Matt's power was starting to exceed even the level of his vanquished father's.

Be it may, it did not matter. Matt Parkman was merely just another pawn in Angela's game in the end. They all were.

"Everything will be explained within the coming hour," Angela said, continuing to further project forth her overall display of adamancy. "Now do follow me, and I shall take you to where the others are. They've been expecting you just as I have."

Reactively, Matt had almost wanted to begin raving upon hearing Angela's words. He hadn't liked the sound of them at all, or the... emotionless tone of the woman's voice. Mentally, Matt began preparing himself for another freak show of a situation yet to come.

After Matt had followed Angela into the dining room, however, he suddenly felt the situation was no longer yet to come... even though he did know it was going to get much worse.

"What the...?" Matt mumbled, halting his footsteps. "Oh no, no. _Hell_ no. If you think I am getting myself involved with Sylar, _again_, you are wrong. All I want now is a _normal_ life. I am not doing you any more favors that involve... _him_. I'm not doing him any more favors, either, and I am also _not_ going to work with him, or help him. Now, before I _do_ leave, I _would_ like to know how you got Mohinder, Hiro, Ando, and Tracy involved in this mess. I don't need any explanation for Peter."

Having overheard Matt all too clearly, Sylar appeared aggravated by just _how_ redundant the 'first reactions' had indeed become. Peter didn't much fancy Matt's words any more than Sylar.

"As I said, the answers you seek will reveal themselves when I feel the time is appropriate," said Angela; "so if you will, please allow yourself to take a seat with the other guests."

"This is insane..." Matt muttered, solemnly walking over to the dining room table. "Completely and utterly insane."

"I don't know how you can say that," Tracy said, "after what we've all seen over the years. This just seems like more of the same thing to me."

After Matt had sat down at Tracy's left, he sighed, and said, "Exactly. _That's_ the problem. In the beginning, I got myself involved in this 'world behind the world' because I wanted to. It was my decision. As time went by, that just wasn't the case anymore. Instead, I only began to feel obligated. A married man with a family should be concerned about living a routine lifestyle that involves going to work, and coming home to his wife and child. Not a routine lifestyle where that man is running around the country having to call his wife and say he can't come home because he has to take down the government."

"Or a routine lifestyle where that man feels obligated to keep living people trapped in his basement."

After Sylar had added his opinion, Matt looked across the table at him and smirked, saying "Again_, exactly_."

Angela returned to the table with another glass of red wine, which she presented to the new arrival.

"No, thank you," Matt replied, pushing his glass aside. "I know better than to accept drinks in a situation like this."

Ando shrugged, taking another sip from his crystal wineglass. "It's not poisoned."

After Angela had walked away from the table, Matt looked back at Ando, and made a response.

"It never is. Instead, you just wake up on a lab table somewhere."

"Or tied to a chair," added Peter.

"Speaking of that..." began Mohinder, "I wonder if Bennet's involved in this, too."

"I don't know, this seems like a private party so far," said Tracy, wondering. "I mean, for people like us. But... I can see your points. He always was one step ahead of us in these games."

"I'm going to try and save us all some time," Mohinder said, looking at Sylar. "Why don't all of us share the story Angela used to get us here?"

"Sounds good, Mohinder, why don't _you_ go first?" Sylar suggested.

Mohinder glared at Sylar once more, but decided to share whatever story he had.

"I was preparing to leave the country and go back to my own," Mohinder explained, "when Angela called me out of nowhere and said I had to be here tonight. She informed me that my presence was required to discuss the scientific plans for the new Company. I initially said no, but then, she told me it was of great importance. That's pretty much it," he concluded. "Sylar, how about you?"

"Angela told me I needed to be here if I wanted to prove myself a real hero," replied Sylar. "That's basically it."

"I'm not buying that for _one_ second," said Matt, "so don't force me to find out the real reason."

"You always did have a little trouble reading this mind of mine," Sylar said casually, "but I am going to save you the trouble. Angela also told me it concerned Peter."

"What?" Peter asked, wanting to know the full story. "What exactly did my mother say about me _this_ time?"

Sylar shrugged one of his shoulders to a barely noticeable extent, before saying "She said you needed my help. That said... why are _you_ here, Peter?"

"My mother told me she wanted to talk tonight," said Peter, "in person. That's really all there is, in my case. I know my own mother better than any of you, so I also know the consequences of turning my head when she has something she's willing to say. Usually getting the truth out of her is about as easy as finding a needle in a haystack."

"I was told the world was in danger again," Hiro added to the discussion. "Angela Petrelli told me bad thing would happen if I did not come."

Ando nodded, and said, "Yes, and I came to help Hiro." Upon hearing his best-friend's words, Hiro's appearance faltered a little, but he said nothing.

"Well, I was basically blackmailed," said Matt; "in my opinion, at least. Angela told me I had to come out here or it would be the death of me. Not in those exact words, but that's the way I understood it. Now, if I had been living somewhere on my own without a family again I would have refused without a doubt, but I can't risk agents showing up to collect my wife and son just to reel me in."

"I just wanted to get back to my life as a political advisor," Tracy explained, "as I tried the carnival life and it didn't work out so well for me, obviously... Angela assured me if I didn't meet with her tonight, that my life would never get back to what it had been before the madness set in."

"Oh dear, it sounds like you _all_ feel you have been 'blackmailed' into coming here," said Angela upon her return to the table. She was holding a platter in her hands, which she set down to present to the others.

"Oh my God," complained Peter, before his voice turned sarcastic. "This is _just_ what we all need. Some mini _crabcakes_ to lighten the mood." Sylar couldn't help it, and started to laugh.

Like a couple of the other guests, Tracy looked at Sylar with disbelief. "You actually think this is _funny?"_ she asked, appearing astonished.

"I can't help it." Sylar laughed. "Think about it. Seven of us are here with apparently _no_ clue as to _why_, and yet we are being encouraged to socialize among ourselves like a typical group of best-friends over wine and now _crabcakes_."

Peter covered his mouth, trying to keep the others from hearing his chuckles, before Matt began laughing as well, but in a more sardonic manner.

"This really _is_ great, isn't it Mohinder?" Matt asked, forcing himself to laugh.

"Of course it is," Mohinder replied with his very own detectable sarcasm. "In fact, I propose a toast."

Mohinder took the wineglass he had yet to touch into his right-hand, and raised it in the air, before he said, "Here's to all of us around the world, for we truly know what it means to be special. I would also like to say 'thank you' to our wonderful hostess, Mrs. Angela Petrelli, for showing us a wonderful evening which I feel has only just begun."

Mohinder then took a very small sip from his glass, while Matt, Sylar, and Ando did the same, followed by a reluctant Hiro. Tracy and Peter were not amused.

"I didn't appreciate the disparagement in your voice, Dr. Suresh, but I will drink to that nevertheless," said Angela; before she did exactly as she had said she would by partaking of her red wine.

Then, Sylar reached out and picked up a single crabcake; bringing it to his mouth. Sylar ate it in one bite, though he seemed to be mocking his situation and that of everyone else by doing this.

"Guys, you've _got_ to try these," Sylar said with encouragement, "because these are the _best_ crabcakes I've ever had."

Ando shrugged, and reached out to pick up one of the mini crabcakes for himself. Hiro was finally ready to snap. He banged his fist against the table, and said, "That's _it_, I _demand_ to know the meaning of this right _now!"_

"Relax, Hiro," Angela said, "it won't be long now."

Sylar gathered another fresh crabcake, only through the use of telekinesis this time around. It floated into his left-hand, and he took a bite of it. "I wonder if Claire will be arriving soon..." Sylar said; then finishing up his snack before speaking again. "I imagine she's a part of this, too. It really is a _brave new world_..."

Peter shook his head a little. "It really does amaze me how you can transform your manner of speaking from hesitant to smug so quickly, Sylar. After all, when you first got here you had almost seemed... afraid."

Mohinder rubbed his forehead. "Don't. Please, don't start talking about 'nightmare land' again. Every conversation between you two _always_ leads back to that."

"I'm with Mohinder," Matt said out of agreement. "I _really_ don't want to get into that..."

"I actually don't want to, either," remarked Peter, "as I do agree we all have more important things to talk about." _God, I really __**don't**__ want to talk about that anymore,_ he contemplated to himself. _That's between me and Sylar and it's nobody's business. All of you are gonna think we're companions, or __**worse**__. 'Sorry to break up the __**lovefest**__' said Eli. What the hell? Bunch of mother..._

"Right..." Matt continued, "So let's get back to the important things." He looked at Angela. "Oh right, we can't. 'All in due timing', correct?"

Angela nodded with ease, taking another sip of wine. The pawns were starting to rebel against their queen. It was not anything Angela hadn't expected... she knew the real anarchy would begin later, anyhow... It was almost time to begin, in fact.

The doorbell.

"Who do you think it is?" Ando questioned the others. "The cheerleader... Claire Bennet?"

Peter made eye contact with Ando, and said, "I wouldn't be surprised if Sylar was actually right about that. I would also expect Noah to be with her if that's the case."

Hiro muttered something to himself in Japanese; before Angela assured Hiro he was wrong by saying "It is not Samuel Sullivan, Hiro. I would never invite that psychopath into my home."

"Well you _did_ invite one psychopath..." whispered Matt.

Having already stood, Angela headed to the front door as she already had many times prior during the evening. An old, grandfather clock sounded from the halls, and Angela knew it was now 7:00 P.M.. Good. It was time, wasn't it?

Angela opened the front door, and presented forth a polite smile.

All the chess pieces were here, now. All they need do was take their designated places on the board. Apart from herself, Angela knew everyone was still merely a pawn. Later, however, different participants in the game would be forced to rise and to transform themselves; into rooks, knights, perhaps even queens or kings.

And as Angela gazed upon the man behind the grille, she wondered – as she had a few times before – if Noah Bennet had the true potential to promote himself for another coming occasion.

"Hello, Angela." Noah was always so polite. "Are you going to leave us out here all evening?"

From behind Noah, Claire Bennet stepped into Angela's view. Claire's arms were folded, and she had a look of impatience on her face showing _just_ how much she already wanted to leave, as if her being back at the Petrelli Mansion for another round at whatever game was a mere waste of her valued time. Claire reminded Angela so much of herself at that age, for a good many reasons. It was both admirable, and pitiful to Angela.

"Of course not, Noah," said Angela, following her brief state of contemplation. "You and Claire are always welcome here."

After Angela had spoken, Noah stepped inside. He continued to look at his acquaintance, and somewhat comically, said, "You mean we are always welcome here _whenever you __**say**__ we are_."

"Lovely way of putting it," remarked Angela, though she seemed far from amused. "Now, let us gather the others from the dining table, and then, we can relocate to a more restful atmosphere."

Claire murmured, "Others..." She looked up at her father. "Dad, what does Angela mean by that?"

Noah's eyes remained on Angela, as he said, "Don't worry, Claire-Bear, we won't be staying long."

With Noah and Claire Bennet both behind her, Angela re-entered the dining room, and in a loud voice, spoke, proceeded to gather everyone's attention. "Everyone, please rise from your seats and join the rest of us in the lounge. Feel free to bring your drinks with you."

Claire couldn't help it, and groaned, before is a barely audible whisper, she said, "Shit..."

Noah put his hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Like I said, Claire, we will _not_ be staying long."

"Tell that to Peter and me..." muttered Mohinder as he stood. He pushed his chair under the table, and then, began heading towards the lounge.

A few of the guests decided to gather their wineglass, though Peter was an obvious exception. As Peter walked through the dining room, it didn't take long for him to notice Sylar at his side.

"What are you thinking?"

Without even looking at Sylar, Peter said, "I'm trying to figure out who's who in the game..."

"What?"

Peter shook his head. "Nothing, okay? Just leave me alone."

Hiro whispered something to Ando about how he should have brought his sword, while Matt said something to Mohinder which translated to nothing more than 'Here we go again...'. In an understandable hurry to leave, Tracy was already in the lounge while the others who had been seated at the dining table were still pacing behind her.

When all of the guests had entered the lounge, Angela remained standing as she directed everyone to take a seat and make themselves comfortable.

Peter took a seat in what had been his father's armchair, while Sylar, Hiro and Ando took a seat upon the neighboring couch. On the other couch, Matt, Mohinder, and Tracy had already taken a seat, whereas Noah and Claire had in two other armchairs. This left one armchair for Angela herself, but still, she remained standing.

Everyone could tell Angela had planned this. In fact, having been in the lounge prior to the arrival of so many people... Peter felt somewhat idiotic for having not noticed the way all the furniture had been moved around to signify the imminent arrival of at _least_ several visitors; more, in this case.

"Now," began Angela, all eyes on her, "I shall do my best to get around to the general point of our little gathering. First off, the incident in Central Park..."

"I knew it," said Claire. "You all want to put me into some sort of Witness Protection Plan sort of thing. Have me change my identity and move across the country, is that it?"

Angela shook her head once more. "No, Claire. May I remind you that not _everything_ is about you? To put it simple... the new Company is in need of a leader to help us and those like us throughout the upcoming desperate times we will be facing. We are here to find that leader."

"Another one of your tests?" Peter asked. "Great. I can't wait. I'm sure no one else here can, either."

Tracy agreed. "Right there with you, Peter." She flicked a hand back through her long, blond hair, and said, "Well, if this is basically it, I think I'll be leaving now." She began to stand.

"Sit." Angela's voice was cold and stern; causing all of her guests to freeze, Tracy included. "One of us, I'm afraid... is going to die tonight."

And at this moment, _everyone_ went silent.

"Die...?" whispered Ando, breaking the silence. He spoke again in a louder tone, "Die? What do you mean 'die', Mrs. Petrelli?"

"...O—Kay..." said Noah under his breath, "I do believe Claire and I have heard quite enough."

"If you leave; if any of you leave, I can assure you there will be _serious_ consequences," Angela guaranteed.

"Consequences more serious than _dying?"_ Matt forced himself to laugh once again. "That's a riot."

Sylar looked at Matt, and said, "You should listen to her. All of you should."

"Right..." mumbled Mohinder, before he looked back across the room at Sylar. "That's easy for you to say. You don't have to worry about dying like us 'mere mortals' do, so Angela's threat doesn't even apply to you."

"Actually, it does." Sylar seemed as if he actually believed his words. "I'm just as much in the dark about all of this as you are, Mohinder. As all of you are. There are ways to kill me, ways I'm sure I'm not even aware of, and considering I am the obvious favorite among you all concerning dear Angela's threat, how do I know that several or more of you haven't allied to put my head on a chopping block on this night?"

Peter sat up in his father's chair. "That's it. I mean it. That is it. I suggest anyone here with a brain follow me right on out the front door before somebody actually does die."

"No, Peter," argued Angela. "This concerns you, very much. This concerns all of you. Someone _is_ going to die on this night..."

Peter made a 'hmp' noise, and then, looked at Sylar. "Do it. See if she's telling the truth."

"I... don't know, Peter..."

Peter put forth a more stern expression. "I mean it, Sylar. Don't make me replicate the ability for myself."

Sylar sighed, and looked at Angela. "Are you sure someone present here is really going to die tonight?"

Angela nodded. "Yes."

Sylar looked at Angela awhile longer, before saying "She's telling the truth..."

"Ask her another one." Peter's voice had taken on a relatively demanding tone. "Ask her if she knows which one of us it is."

Sylar sighed still more, and followed through with Peter's secondary request. "Angela, do you know who among us is going to die?"

Momentarily, Angela said nothing... but after a few more agonizing seconds obtained to pass, she finally admitted, "Yes, I do..."

Everyone, once again, looked back to Sylar. Eyes locked with Angela's, Sylar revealed his knowledge when he said, "She is telling the truth..."

"Then who?" barked Peter.

"I am afraid I cannot answer that for you, Peter."

This time, Peter looked over at Parkman. "Matt, read her mind. Now."

Matt looked at Angela, putting everything he had into getting the name – any name – out.

Angela just... stood there, perfectly at ease; even as the blood began to drip from her nose.

Finally, Matt's head jerked to the side. "I can't—I can't get it... All I could get was something in French, I think..."

"You will all have to trust me, for now." Angela removed a tissue from her formal coat pocket so she could wipe the crimson out from under her nose. "I assure you... should any of you leave, things _will_ change for the worst."

"Okay..." whispered Ando, "so what now?"

"I require a little one-on-one with the nine of you, right now," stated Angela. "Noah, you first."

Noah appeared as if he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Excuse me? You expect me to go off into some room with you while I leave my daughter all alone here with paranoid sociopaths like Sylar? Not to mention all the other unstable people here."

Claire sighed. "Really, Dad; I'll be fine."

"Good," said Angela. "Noah, lets you and I go upstairs into my office."

"I'll watch Claire for you, Noah," Peter said confidently. "Trust me; _no one_ is dying under this roof tonight, or out from under it. Not as long as _I'm_ around."

"Then it's settled." Angela actually smiled. "The rest of you, feel free to look about. As for you, Noah, you may follow me, now."

Noah tried to bite back a groan, but he followed Angela Petrelli nonetheless. The two exited the lounge, entered the nearby hall, and were soon making their ways up the flight of stairs.

Once Angela and Noah had made their departures, Tracy looked around at the remaining guests.

"I still think we all should leave, right now. Who's with me?

"Are you kidding?" Mohinder inquired, flopping back against the couch's cushioning. "Don't you get it? If any of us should leave, a dead body could appear and it'll be whoever's _not_ here who gets the blame for it."

"I'm much more interested in what Mom's talking to Noah about..." muttered Peter. "Say Hiro, do you think you could... you know, teleport up there and find out?"

"I... don't know..." admitted Hiro. "I merely teleport; I'm not an invisible man. And this is Angela Petrelli and Noah Bennet we speak of. They'd know."

Peter slammed his head back against the armchair. "Damnit. I hate it when I start thinking like this. After all, I could be the invisible man weren't it for... hell, I'm not getting into that again, or I may _never_ move on."

"Well screw this," stated Claire, "I'm not sitting back when Angela has made it clear that someone among us is going to die. You can all do whatever you want to, but I am not staying here."

With that said, Claire up and left – heading for the stairs, though no one seemed to care when Peter did not follow.

"Hmm," Matt said, shrugging again, "guess I'll venture on down to the cellar. I'm sure someone's waiting to stab me in the back down there for sure."

"What...?" inquired Mohinder. "Matt, you can_no_t be serious!"

Again, Matt shrugged. "If I'm going to be here and quite possibly die, I might as well make myself useful by securing a good bottle of scotch or something..."

Mohinder gritted his teeth. "Fine, I'll join you. I suppose it does beat sitting around in the same room as _Sylar_ of all people."

"Well I'm not going anywhere in this deathtrap right now." Following her words, Tracy laughed.

"I think I'll head on up to the library," Sylar said, standing from his seat. "This way, you'll all have one less of an excuse for wondering around."

Ando leaned in towards Hiro, whispering something in his ear, before Hiro nodded.

"Ando-kun and I are going to find the nearest computer," stated Hiro with an affirming nod.

"This is pure insanity..." muttered Peter.

Everyone had decided to split-up, hadn't they?

Great... just great...

That was how it _always_ began in these situations, wasn't it?

A few people start wondering around some mysterious mansion, and next thing you know, you've got yourselves a dead body...

Peter's face fell into his hands. "When did I sign up for this?"

Oh yes – when he was born, that's right...

0.0.0

**A/N:** I'll post ACT II within the next couple days or so, I just know this fic is so freggin' long, but it was my pet project in August. There's three acts altogether, but I hope I didn't make them _too_ long.

I have one other Heroes fic I've been working on (a solely Pylar one), so I'll try to get around to finishing some of that up, too. There's too many fandoms sucking me in these days. ;P

Anyhow, thanks for reading, and have a happy Thanksgiving! x) Also, please no flames...? Nice reviews, however, are much appreciated. :)


	2. Act II: You'd be as Good as Dead

**A/N: **Thanks to those of you who reviewed so far. :)

Angela is one of my favorite characters _ever_, so I didn't exactly want to knock her off either, but the fic's already been written and I seriously was just going by the crazy dream I had in June.

Sorry once again for another overtly long chapter (which does make it hard for me to believe that anyone could tolerate reading this whole thing in one sitting), but had I posted this fic in little segments, it may have taken me until around Christmas to get all this up... And I also have a bad habit of abandoning multi-chapter fics when I don't upload them in their entirety soon, even when they are complete.

Btw... I don't know if anyone's guessed but the title of this fic does come from the Dave Matthews Band song, lol...

Well, please read on if you'd like. :)

**You Might Die Trying  
**ACT II  
_You'd be as Good as Dead_

It was time for the interviews to begin...

Noah Bennet followed Angela into the Petrelli Office, and then the door was swiftly shut.

"What is this about, Angela? Huh? Huh?" Noah raved, quite literally. "Inviting me, Claire, and let's not forget 'Sylar' here, among many others so you can tell us someone among us will DIE tonight?"

Angela remained perfectly at ease. "Try to compose yourself, Noah. Let's get down to the reason you felt you were summoned here."

Noah removed a piece of paper from his coat, and unfolded it. "Oh, that's right... you want me to help you 'bag-and-tag' some more, right? I see you've even found me another suitable partner in Edgar."

"Once a Company Man, always a Company Man..."

Noah smirked. "That may be very true, but pardoning my French, how in the _hell_ does this require the others who are here? Much less my own daughter?"

"Oh you know why, my dear friend," replied Angela, who took a seat behind her rosewood desk. She gathered a set of files, and placed them neatly in a stack, before opening the manila folder on the very top. "Let's see how you like the sound of this... Twenty-nine year old blind male in Bangor who has the ability to see people bearing the genetic code for abilities."

Noah's glance averted to the side. "I've heard of him."

Angela nodded, continuing to read the file at hand. "Now, imagine this... Imagine it if this man were to start working for the government against us."

"So I'll have a little talk with him first..."

"They are already on to him, Noah," said Angela, "so talk with him all you like. You're working with the new Company now, so you very well know what I need you to do."

Noah laughed. "You want me to lock up some blind musician just because you see it fit to do so?"

Angela nodded. "Yes, Noah. That is the general idea."

Noah couldn't hold himself back; he laughed again. "How many times have I told you, Angela? How many times have I told you that I am through with 'bagging and tagging'? Don't bring Samuel Sullivan into this – he was dangerous. I'm not going to start keeping tabs on harmless people all over the world again only to go after them to capture or kill them whenever you give me the 'okay'."

"You don't have a choice," argued Angela. "You do what I tell you to do, and these files on my desk are but a few of the people I want you to take care of. If you don't, these people are either going to come forwards to reveal themselves to the media in the way your Claire did, or they will be used against us. Now, I suggest you look over these files before I send someone else up."

Noah frowned with utmost anger, and snatched the files from Angela's hands.

"I hope you know what you are _once again_ getting yourself into, Angela," warned Noah, "I _really_ do."

Remaining poised and ever so composed, Angela said, "And I hope, for the world's sake, that you know what you are getting _yourself_ into... After all, you have a talent for these sorts of things. It would truly be a shame to see it all go to waste... and to see you, Noah, actually working at some trivial paper company for the rest of your life when we all know how much more you are truly capable of."

"It's starting again, isn't it?" inquired Noah. "It is."

Angela looked forth at Noah, and dark eyes met. "Of course it is, my dear, dear friend."

Noah frowned, knowing he once again had another troubling decision to make...

0.0.0

Matt Parkman was currently in the cellar, though truth be told he had no idea why he was actually down there, apart from his quest to gather some decent scotch. He really wasn't thirsty for any; he just... couldn't stand the thought of sitting in the lounge for a few hours, waiting around for someone to drop dead. Especially should such person be himself... Matt knew if anyone should have his own back, that person should be himself, after all... ...Though wondering around the cellar of a mansion filled with troubled persons didn't seem like the brightest of ideas when the detective actually stopped to think about it.

Matt roamed around in the dark for awhile longer, until he came upon a rather long row of wine cabinets; covered in spider webs.

"Oh, lovely..." Matt murmured.

"_Matt..."_

"What...?"

"_Matt, I'm going to get you..."_

Matt sighed. "Mohinder... this is not funny. In fact, it's that other word... oh, 'lame', that's right..."

Laughter was soon to be heard amongst the cellar, before none other than Mohinder Suresh began closing in on his designated target. Matt no sooner felt a light slap against his back, which in all honesty caused Matt to jump from startle.

"Damnit!" cursed Matt, as he turned around. "Mohinder, what was the meaning of that?"

Mohinder shrugged, laughing still more. "You didn't honestly think I was going to let you roam around in this creepy cellar all by yourself, did you?"

Matt sighed. "I guess not, as you probably are my best-friend when it comes to the never-ending crazy situations involving the ones of 'us'."

"So, did you find what you were looking for?" asked Mohinder.

"Well, a decent light would be nice..."

And then, just like that, the lights came on.

Matt looked at his friend with disbelief. "You didn't..."

Mohinder smiled. "I doubted that Angela had resided here for a while, so I took the liberty of looking at the fuse box on my way in."

"God, Mohinder." Matt sighed again, his shoulders slumping a little. "Sometimes I wonder how I have made it without you for as long as I have."

"I wonder the same about you myself," joked Mohinder. "So, yes, do get whatever it was you came down here to get. This place is... generally spooky..."

"Hell, this whole _mansion_ is 'generally spooky'..." Matt said, pausing between words. "Let's just grab a few good bottles and be done with it."

Mohinder rolled his eyes. "You can't be serious about this, can you, Matt? I mean... honestly, roaming around the cellar for alcohol, when it's the last thing any of us needs right now?"

Matt shrugged. "I'd rather not have a care in the world when it comes to the fact that I may be dead before midnight."

"You are _not_ going to die." Mohinder forced out a sigh for himself. "In fact, _none_ of us are. Can't you see it? This is just another one of Angela's many, _many_ games. Despite the fact that Sylar is here, I am not buying these relatively idle 'death' threats seriously; for one second, even. I suggest you and I head back upstairs, and rejoin the others. If there's a dead body waiting for us there – _then_ we can take things seriously."

Matt exhaled a deep breath. "You're right. But first... help me gather the goods?

Mohinder chuckled. "You really are hopeless, Matt."

0.0.0

"Hey, there's a computer."

"I don't know, Ando. This room gives me... bad feeling."

"Well of course it gives you a bad feeling, Hiro... take a look at _where_ we are."

Ando walked through the bedroom, around the bed, and then to the other side where a wooden computer desk was located. Ando took a seat in the rotating chair, and made an attempt to sign-on to the computer.

Hiro remained standing, as he just... looked around the room. There were many trophies, medals, and awards... and pictures, come to think...

"Ando..." whispered Hiro. "Don't you realize _whose_ room this is?"

"Ssh, I've almost got it..."

Hiro was seconds away from turning off the computer. "This is _Nathan Petrelli's_ room!"

"Well..." said Ando as he continued his hacking, "even after Mr. Isaac was killed by Sylar, he still left behind plenty of information for us. Maybe... maybe Nathan Petrelli did, too."

Before Hiro could protest against Ando's ideas or actions any longer, Ando soon said, "Got it!"

"Have you had your fun yet?" inquired Hiro. "This is... disrespectful." When Ando said nothing, Hiro sighed again, and began pacing in circles. This went on for a few minutes, that is, until Ando exclaimed a loud "Bingo!"

Hiro kneeled down at Ando's side. "What? What is it?"

"Check out all these e-mails..."

Hiro took a glance at the monitor, and groaned yet again on this evening. "Ando, they're just e-mails to Nathan. Private e-mails. You know, e-mails sent to him back when everyone thought he was _actually_ alive?"

Ando nodded, and then said, "But look who many of them are from? Angela Petrelli."

Hiro blinked. "...So now you want to hack into Mrs. Petrelli's account?"

Ando cracked his knuckles. "I'll take my chances."

"You do that, Ando. Just remember how well your _chances_ played out for you in Vegas."

0.0.0

Peter Petrelli marched through the hallway, looking left, then right, and then left... After all the time he had spent here, how was it possible for him to forget the layout of his own, family mansion?

His walking came to an abrupt stop, however, when he saw _exactly_ who he had been looking for seated in one of the many library armchairs.

"I would appreciate it if you would return downstairs so I don't have to follow you around."

Sylar looked up from his book. "I'm not bothering anyone."

Peter exhaled, more out of annoyance than fatigue, despite the fact that he surely was exhausted, too.

"Why don't you watch T.V. or something, at least? You read too many damn books."

"That may be, but I couldn't help but notice Angela had this particular book locked in her desk."

"...And you broke into my mother's desk because...?"

Sylar flashed the book's cover at Peter. Peter squinted a little, and then said, "_The Sociopath Next Door? _Of course. There's hundreds of books in this room, and yet you choose the first book you feel has something to do with _you_. Allow me to give you a better rec: 'The Flash of Two Worlds', issue #123. How's that?"

"Peter, if you don't start taking our situation seriously, it just may be _you_ that dies tonight."

Peter waved a hand at Sylar, in a rude manner. "_No one's_ dying. No one's even _worried_ about dying, except for you, it seems, so if that really is the case, why don't you stand up, walk over to the nearest window, and bolt, for lack of better words."

Sylar begged to differ. "I would never do that. I'm a hero now, remember? I have a job here to do, and if anyone knows this it is I."

"Ugh," grumbled Peter. He was about to exit the library, when he stopped one yard in front of the exit point.

"What's wrong, Peter?" Sylar asked from afar, already knowing the answer.

Peter turned around. "You know I can't leave you alone like this. Not in my mother's mansion of all places and not after the new information was brought to light especially." It seemed Peter was taking the situation more seriously than he wanted Sylar to know.

"You think I'm gonna murder someone, Peter?"

Peter stared Sylar straight in the eyes. "I think that even if a person _can_ change, they can _always_ change _back_."

0.0.0

Still seated comfortably in the lounge, Tracy Strauss was no sooner disturbed by a familiar voice.

"Tracy, it's your turn to talk to Angela."

"Just a second," replied Tracy, who was in the middle of reapplying her Clinique power.

"Seriously, Tracy. The makeup can wait." Noah chuckled.

"Well if I'm going to die I may as well do so with style," replied Tracy with sarcasm, before she closed her teal compact and put it back into her small, leather purse.

"Before you head upstairs, please tell me you know where Claire has run off to?"

Tracy shook her head. "Sorry, Noah, I don't. After I have my one-on-one with Angela, I'll do what I can to help you find her if you'd like, though."

"Thank you, Tracy," replied Noah, "That would be much appreciated. The last thing my daughter should be doing right now is running around this mansion where God only knows what kinds of dangers lurk behind every corner."

"You think it's booby trapped?"

Noah grinned. "I wouldn't go that far..."

0.0.0

Tracy Strauss entered Angela's office, and shut the door behind her.

"Well, I'm here."

"Good," Angela greeted, "Now – let us get down to business. It has come to my attention that you wish to be put in touch with your other sister, Barbara."

"I've forgotten about that. I have more important things to worry about."

"Then tell me this, Miss Strauss... do you ever wonder at night, while you are asleep in your bed, if they will come for you, once again? How _do_ you sleep at night?"

Tracy flashed a smile. "On my back, covered in money."

"Very funny," sighed Angela. "You know what I mean. Do you ever wonder if it's going to start all over again? What we've all come to refer to as 'the Danko incident'?"

Tracy shrugged carelessly. "Nothing a cold snap won't solve."

"Well I'm glad you feel that way, since we are all on the verge of facing such incidents again."

Tracy's brow furrowed. "_Excuse_ me?"

"I'm afraid it will not be long now," continued Angela. "Do you honestly think your life will ever be what it once was?" The younger woman said nothing. "That is what I thought," said Angela, giving yet another of her many opinions. "That said, The Company needs you."

"Wait. Just wait a second," Tracy began in retort. "I am _not_ working for The Company. I tried that once with Pinehearst and it turned out to be more than half the nightmare I'd expected."

"As I have told Noah _many_ times, these are _desperate_ times," stated Angela, who was in the process of organizing more manila folders atop her desk. "The part you play during them is up to you this time. You can either hunt, or be hunted. It is _that_ simple."

Tracy scowled. "I'm _not_ having any part of this. You can threaten me _all_ you want, but understand _one_ thing... My threats _aren't_ to be taken _any_ less seriously than _yours_..."

0.0.0

The silence had become overbearing.

"...Are you just gonna sit there and read all day again?"

Sylar looked up from his book. "It never seemed to bother you before. Not in the beginning, at least. Speaking of which, I understand you are watching a lot more television these days."

"How did you know that?" inquired Peter, suspicion dripping from his lips.

Sylar gave a casual shrug from his chair. "The way you are talking, for one. Besides, if there was one sentence I will never forget having heard you say, it was 'Thanks to you I may never catch season six of House.' ...So, did you ever watch it?"

Peter folded his arms. "Well excuse me if I prefer evening soap operas over the Ted Bundy biography I keep under my bed."

Sylar sighed, closing his book. He looked up at the younger man. "Why do we always have to talk like this? Everything's always an argument, or some slewed remark masked by arrogance or often even hatred. I want you to know... I am doing my best here."

Peter smirked. "You are going to have to do better."

Sylar huffed, before a big smile appeared on his face. "Isn't it a wonderful day, Peter? It's a great day to be alive. I love the world, and I love everyone in it. Quick, let us go do everything we can to help the less fortunate!"

"...Goodbye," said Peter, before he turned around, and left the library.

0.0.0

"I've got spider webs all over me..."

"I don't see why you care. Brandy is brandy."

"And again, I just wanted something to do that didn't involve sitting around with that son of a bitch."

A foot in front of Matt Parkman, Mohinder reached the lounge first. He couldn't help it, and laughed.

"Right, Matt... Funnily enough, so-called SOB isn't even here."

"Good," said Matt, as he set down a couple glass bottles on the nearest nightstand. "That makes me feel a whole lot better. If he's not here, maybe he's instead murdering someone who isn't here. And, wait... that means he could be murdering _anyone_."

"Let's go into the kitchen, and I'll help you gather the glasses," insisted Mohinder. "We had better make it the really, really nice ones."

Matt shrugged idly. "Okay."

Matt and Mohinder set forth for the kitchen, continuing to chat among themselves. Then, however, the touchy subject Mohinder hadn't wanted to scrape the surface of began pestering his somewhat invasive subconscious.

"Matt..."

"Huh?"

"I, well... really don't want to get into this, but..."

"Get into what?" inquired Matt, who was beginning his search through the kitchen cabinets.

"Well..." continued the geneticist, "what Hiro calls 'the nightmare land'..."

"Oh Mohinder..." sighed Matt. "_Why_ would you want to know about _that?_ I already told you more than enough over the phone."

Mohinder agreed with the point behind Matt's tone. "I'm aware of that." Like his long-time friend, he began searching through the upper kitchen cabinets as well, but occupying his hands didn't stop him from protesting the topic at bay. "You told me Sylar wanted you to read his mind so you would know he was serious about changing... which you said you were unable to decipher. However, you said you... did see some disturbing content... Just not the 'usual' kind from his mind, per say..."

Matt rolled his eyes. "I didn't sleep very well for a few nights, if that's what you mean."

"Well... are you going to tell me exactly what it _was_ you saw, or heard?"

Matt exhaled, deeply. "I'm sure you already know that. Sylar was thinking... _weird_ things... about Peter, if you know what I mean by 'weird'... In fact, that's all I could _get_ while attempting to read his mind. How was I _supposed_ to know if that nutcase was serious about reforming with all of those thoughts about Peter blasting forth out of his head like a loudspeaker?"

"Just give me a little reassurance, Matt?" Mohinder requested, gathering several rounded crystal glasses. "Just... tell me I'm wrong."

"Wrong about what?"

"Wrong to think that Sylar's actually... ugh, I cannot even bring myself to say it out loud. It's too... disquieting."

"Mohinder..." muttered Parkman. "Let me just give it to you straight – in _that_ sense. I am not going to say it out loud either, so instead, I'm just going to let you know that the sort of 'thoughts' you're having that I'm _not_ reading are _correct_."

Mohinder groaned reactively. "Ugh... Please, tell me you didn't see... _other_ things, too?"

Matt swallowed. "I... don't know for sure. At the time, I was half-hoping they were Sylar's fantasies, but... I don't know, maybe they _were_ real..."

Mohinder fought back a reflexive gag. "Okay, I've heard _enough_. I'm going to look for the tea now. And some coffee."

"...Why?"

Mohinder chuckled, looking at Matt. "You know I'd much rather take my chances with a cup of chai tea. As for the coffee, that's Peter's department."

"What about the others?"

"Hmm... I gather Noah would go with the brandy, Tracy too, Angela and Sylar the wine, Claire the spring water, Ando anything, and Hiro a soda pop."

Matt nodded. "Agreed. I'll check the fridge to see if Angela has any Ramune Soda on board."

Mohinder began invading the kitchen with his personal space all the more, before he said, "I really hope Angela doesn't mind this... It is considered rude for one to play exploratory in someone's kitchen of all places. Everyone knows that much."

"Well it's also rude to blackmail people into a creepy mansion. Angela was under the impression she had gotten away with murdering her husband, after all. I wouldn't be surprised if she kept a body hidden in her bathroom wall." Matt paused. "Though I guess the cellar would be a better place for one."

"...Nice thought, Matt..."

0.0.0

"Claire... Claire? Claire?"

"I'm in here."

Tracy Strauss walked down the hallway, until she came upon a partially shut door. The Ice Queen pushed it open, to see none other than Claire Bennet seated comfortably on a bed.

"Claire, what are you doing in here?"

Claire sighed. "I just wanted to be alone. I already know we're all here because of me, anyway."

Tracy ambled over to the side of the bed, and took a comfortable seat next to the former cheerleader.

"What are you looking at?" asked Tracy.

Claire smiled a little. "It's just a picture of Peter and Nathan together, from when they were younger. They looked so... _happy_ then."

Tracy took a look at the framed photograph for herself, and nodded. "That they do, Claire. Was this Peter's room?"

"I think so," replied Claire, "since it's the only bedroom I've seen so far that's missing the deer heads. Not to mention the box of comic books under the bed."

"You know, Claire," began Tracy, placing a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder, "I think what you did at Central Park took a lot of guts. It's not something I would have done myself, but I can understand why you did it."

"You're just saying that..."

Tracy shook her head. "No, I really do mean it. I may not want another Danko coming after me again, but... if something was meant to happen, I have to accept that. I couldn't see that in the beginning, and I nearly lost my mind for that very reason. We all have our parts to play. I just wasn't ready to play mine. I am now..."

Claire forced a chuckle. "So, if both of us make it out of here alive, you want to grab an ice-cream some time?"

Tracy laughed. "I'll hold you to it. But, anyhow, Angela sent me to get you. It's your turn to endure some boring lecture."

Claire set the photograph down upon Peter's nightstand, and asked, "What exactly did Angela say to you?"

"Well... nothing important. I'm sure we'll all be leaving soon, and I'm sure nobody is going to die." Tracy smiled once more. "Especially you."

0.0.0

"Wow, take a look at _this_..."

"No, Ando, I will not."

"Fine, then I'll just read it out loud. It's from Angela, addressed to someone... anonymous. It says: I have invited them all tonight as planned. Once the death itself occurs, the leader I seek will be revealed, and The Company will not die."

Suddenly, Hiro appeared very, very interested. "...I did _not_ like the sound of that, Ando-kun..."

Ando shivered in his chair. "It is kind of exciting, though? I mean, you and I have the chance to save someone again! All we have to do is figure out who it is – who it is who's going to die."

"Hmm..." Hiro uttered out of contemplation. "Well, not Sylar."

"How do we know it's not Sylar?"

"Huh?"

"Think about it," Ando started off, "If this really is a test, then maybe... whoever kills Sylar becomes a leader of the new Company!"

"That actually makes sense..." Hiro solemnly agreed. "Mrs. Petrelli is calling us all into her office... maybe it is to give us speech on how to kill Sylar... or worse..."

"Worse?"

Hiro nodded. "Yes, worse. What if it is not Sylar Mrs. Petrelli wants out of the way, but Peter? Isn't he the rightful heir to The Company now?"

"Yikes, Hiro, I better check some more of these e-mails..."

Ando turned back to the flatscreen monitor, and began typing away, that is, until a small message box appeared in the lower, right-hand corner.

"Uh-oh..."

"What is it, Ando?"

"Someone's tracking me..."

Hiro swallowed. "From where?"

Ando made a hasty attempt to find out before the computer could freeze. "It's someone _inside_ of the mansion... The IP address is the same; they're all networked, like back at Yamagato."

"Am I disturbing you two?"

Hiro and Ando froze, and turned their heads.

"Dare I ask what you guys are doing in here?"

Ando forced himself to laugh, though it was notably being forced. "I was just checking out the latest update to Busty Asian Beauties."

"Is that so, Hiro?"

Hiro perked up. "Huh? Oh! Yes. You know Ando... I never could keep him away from those—these sites."

Noah Bennet walked over to the computer desk to take a look for himself, and what he saw...

Noah rolled a set of dark eyes. "I know Angela said we could do whatever we wanted for now, but do you seriously think she would appreciate you two infecting her computers with malicious spyware from foreign pornography sites that are probably riddled with nuisances such as 'Security Tool' and 'Antivir'?"

Hiro gave a firm nod. "Right you are, Noah Bennet. Ando shall abort the mission right away! Ando?"

Ando blinked. "Huh? Oh, right! This is Ando, signing off..."

Noah remained reasonably suspicious, but nevertheless, he nodded, and said, "Now why don't you two check out something more useful, like the stock market?"

"Because the economy is very bad right now," replied Ando.

Noah couldn't help it, and laughed out loud. "Very good then, I'm going back downstairs..."

0.0.0

"Well Claire, have you anything to say to me before we get started?"

"No."

"Very well then," said Angela, opening another file on her desk. "Are you enjoying your newfound publicity?"

"I'm enjoying being _myself_. Can I go now?"

"No, you may not."

"Too bad," replied Claire, before she turned.

"How would you like to spend the next hundred years of your life in a one-room jail?"

Claire stopped, just as her hand had touched the metal doorknob. She turned back around, a leering expression on her face. "Is that a threat?"

Angela nodded. "Of course it is; for you, and for anyone else who comes forth to the media. With that said, I am afraid you have put the knife in your own back without anyone's assistance but that of your _own_, dear. You can forget about college, and about your special friend Gretchen. That's all in the past now. Had you truly wanted that life, you would have tried your best to maintain it, but no, you threw it away in favor of the prospect of fame."

"You're a monster."

"So are you agreeing with Sylar now?"

Claire momentarily said nothing. "...I am speaking for myself. I made a decision. If I must pay for it, then fine, but don't turn my actions into something you can use to save yourself from facing 'my' consequences."

Angela interlaced her fingers into a single, formed fist, and placed her hands atop the desk. "You once thought you had what it took to work for The Company. Do you still think in such a manner?"

"Yes, but I no longer want to."

"It's probably for the better," admitted Angela, her eyes still locked with her granddaughter's. "Peter and I both know what potential you truly have, but neither us want to see you sacrifice your very soul."

Claire's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Angela loosened her hands, and brushed a strand of reddish-brown hair back behind her ear.

"If you want to know the answer behind that question, I'm afraid you are going to have to ask Peter. You may leave now, Claire. Just remember what I have told you. If things do not settle down to my desires, I _will_ have you locked up, and then you'll be no better off than Samuel Sullivan himself."

"I'm **not** going _anywhere_."

"You just might. Keep in mind, though... unlike Samuel, the prison may very well be _eternal_ for **you**..."

"We'll see about that..."

0.0.0

"Don't you think you've put... _enough_ caffeine in there?"

"Probably. But Peter... he seriously looks like he's about to drop dead."

"You shouldn't be talking like _that_, Mohinder..."

Mohinder added some more coffee grounds to the fancy cappuccino machine, before he went over to the stove to check on the overall progress of the green tea. Then, out of nowhere, Matt began chortling quietly to himself.

Mohinder noticed instantaneously, and said, "_Now_ what are you musing to yourself about?"

Matt turned to face his friend. "Seriously, look at us? Look at you? You're making tea and coffee in the Petrelli Mansion. Imagine what the others are doing. Peter's probably passed-out on the floor somewhere. Sylar's probably... okay, I'll skip him. Noah's probably loading his gun. Tracy's probably in the bathroom doing her mascara. Ando's probably looking at porn somewhere with Hiro. Claire's probably brooding somewhere."

"I guess Claire's the only one of us with any sense these days," Mohinder replied comically, "and here I always thought I was the designated genius amongst us all. Huh. I suppose _the_ logical thing for me to do now is to get out a catalogue, and order a pizza."

"You _hate_ pizza. But, if you must order one, make sure it includes the finest halibut available, with a side of mini crabcakes."

Mohinder chuckled. "You _should_ order a pizza just to irritate Angela."

An invisible pair of horns sprouted from Parkman's head. "Now you are talking my language."

"Guys? You in here?"

Matt exited the kitchen, and walked around the breakfast bar. "Yeah?"

Claire looked forth at Matt. "Is Mohinder with you?"

"I am," Mohinder called from the kitchen's confines.

"Well, Angela wants to see _you_ now, Mohinder."

Mohinder grumbled to himself. "Great..."

Matt pat his friend on the back a few times in a reassuring manner, which implicated the smallest hint of pity. "Don't worry; we can take care of the pizza later."

"The pizza...?" questioned Claire with a look of bedazzlement.

0.0.0

"Peter?"

"I'll be ready in a few more moments, Hesam..."

"Peter..."

"Five more minutes..."

"Peter, you're heading for a break down!"

Peter jumped right out of his seat. "Break down? Right! I'll get that wall broken down!"

Noah Bennet pushed the horn-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of his nose, after he had rubbed both eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Peter... you really, really need some sleep..."

Peter looked around, realizing he... wasn't exactly in 'nightmare land'. Thus, he flopped back down into his father's old, beige armchair.

"Mind if I sit down?" Noah inquired in a polite tone of voice.

Peter shook his head. "Not at all. I think I missed the end of _Scrubs_, anyway."

Noah eyed the television set. "...I would say so, unless you are interested in having your child yet to come learn the wonders of the German language."

"Huh?" Peter then took a look at the television for himself. "...I honestly have no idea what this is, Noah."

"Sadly, Peter... I imagine you have been present for far more infomercials than you are aware of," declared Noah, before he took a seat on an adjacent couch. "But anyhow, I would have thought _you_ of all people would be keeping an eye on Claire, _or_ Sylar."

Peter sighed once more, his head tilting back in a peaceful manner. "If Sylar wants to cause trouble, I'll just kick his ass like I always do. If Sylar wants to cause trouble with Claire, she'll stab him in the eye with whatever's handy on her. It may sound crude, but I have more important things to worry about, like what my mother was talking about earlier. Games. Chess. Pawns. Death. She _really_ _believes_ someone is going to die. I mean, I know her dreams have been known to be wrong from time to time, but given the situation, I _do_ believe someone is at _least_ in danger of dying."

Noah placed his hands in his lap, and leaned forwards. "Well... there are certain ways to find out the future..."

"No," responded Peter; not wanting Noah to get another word in edgewise, "you know how Hiro feels about time-traveling, and honestly, I'm right there with him. The futures we see never play out the way we see them, anyway. Were I to borrow his ability and time-travel again, I might just end up like the Traveller from _The Time Machine_... Going 30, 802,701 years into the future to see the crabs wondering the bloodlike beaches as the world freezes and comes to an end..."

"...Okay..." whispered Noah, slightly disturbed. He didn't know if Peter had learned that in Sylar's head, or in his own. Noah then continued, saying, "But, that is honestly not what I meant. Who else here apart from Hiro do we know who can take a peek at the upcoming future for us?"

Unmoving, Peter sat in silence for awhile longer. "...Besides my mother?"

Noah sighed. "I mean Parkman, Peter."

Peter looked up, appearing contemplative. "You know... that's a pretty good idea. I'll go get a pencil and some paper, and see if Matt's up to it."

0.0.0

"This had better not take long."

"Patience, Dr. Suresh."

"I am tired of being patient, Mrs. Petrelli. If you had some precognitive vision regarding the death of me, or one of my friends, I would like to know the details right.. now.."

"Please, do try to remain calm, doctor," insisted Angela, who was still seated ever so comfortably behind her lavish desk. "I trust that has become a stronger point of yours ever since the formula corrected your genetic faults. Might I ask... if you had it to do over again, not knowing the outcome, would you pursue the theory?"

Mohinder sneered. "Of course not. I would rather be one of them than a monster. My ego got the best of me; a mistake I will not allow myself to make ever again."

Angela went silent, reading over a set of papers.

Mohinder sighed, becoming impatient once again. "Is that all?"

"No," responded Angela, who didn't even bother to look up, "I'm reading over your files. To put it bluntly, Mohinder, I highly doubt you will ever be able to live out a life of normality, despite whatever country you choose to reside in."

"Your opinions are of no importance to me," argued Mohinder, chin raised, "I am not working for The Company again. Last time I tried that I had my memory erased, and temporarily killed a man. Then when I had the nerve to once again resurrect my father's old research, I was impaled through the chest by rocks before I found myself in a mental institution compliments of Hiro. Yes, I do believe returning to New Delhi is the most beneficial decision I can make for myself right now."

"I'm afraid you will not get that chance."

"Excuse me?"

Angela looked up from her paperwork. "You are in the same predicament as we all are. If it makes you feel any better, I do apologize, but as my dear husband always used to say... nothing is set in stone. Things are always changing, and like the others who are here on this dismal night, you have your part to play."

Mohinder nodded. "Right. I see. I really do. And Sylar has his part to play? Did you talk to him prior to the rest of us tonight, ask him to knock someone off of your list for the sake of some sad and sorry future you saw in a dream? Yes. I completely understand that. What's a single person's death, anyway? If their death improves the future, I suppose they _have_ to die, right?"

"As sarcastic as your words continue to be, you are correct on all grounds. Think of your night here as an interview in itself."

Mohinder covered his mouth to hide his chuckles of mockery. "I'll do that. I really will."

0.0.0

Peter Petrelli had gathered some paper and a few number two pencils from his old room, and was now heading for the kitchen. Claire was right behind him.

"You sure he was in here?" asked Peter.

Claire signified a 'yes' with a small nod. "He and Mohinder both were, but Mohinder's upstairs now."

Just then, a crash was heard, originating from the kitchen.

"What was that...?" whispered the blond girl.

Peter sighed, and continued forth to his desired destination, until he found none other than Matt Parkman hovering over a broken coffee mug. Matt stood, and turned around. "It was much hotter than I thought it would be... I swear I _am_ getting used to the basic household chores, though. It's just this _stupid_ cappuccino machine. I don't even think it was made on this hemisphere."

"Never mind that," said Peter, wanting to cut right to the chase, "We need you to draw for us."

Matt arched a brow. "Draw? You mean as in the future?"

Peter nodded. "Yes."

"I don't know, Peter... I don't want to cause a fuss, especially right now. The last thing the ten of us needs is to create our own mini-mass hysteria."

Claire shrugged, and said, "Then let's just keep it between the three of us for now? I can keep a secret."

"Same here," agreed Peter. "I'll even clean up all that hot coffee for you, and I also won't tell Mom that you were using her imported Swedish coffee grounds..."

Matt gave the sigh of defeat. "Fine, I'll give it a try..."

Thus, Peter and Claire cleaned up the mess on the marble tiled floor, before Peter decided to have a cup of that steaming hot coffee for himself. Claire grabbed a bottle of Evian from within the steel refrigerator, while Matt took hold of the small glass of brandy he had earlier poured. Afterwards, the three of them set onwards once again for the dining table. They figured it was the last place anyone would come looking for them; if everyone else was indeed as sick of it as they were.

After they had all taken their seats, Peter took a sip of his hot coffee, and slid a piece of paper across the table to Matt's front after having handed him a sharpened pencil with a few chew marks on it.

Then they all... sat there for awhile.

When nothing happened, Matt took a small drink of his brandy straight up, and said, "I don't think this is gonna—"

Matt's eyes abruptly went white, and he picked up the pencil and began to draw unconsciously.

"Well this brings back memories..." muttered Claire.

Peter continued to watch Parkman's ghostly eyes. "Tell me about it..."

0.0.0

"Say Hiro... want to check out the attic?"

Hiro shoved his best-friend in the side, playfully. "Don't you know what happens to heroes who go into an attic for no reason?"

Ando nodded. "Yes, they catch bad guy."

"Ando, Angela Petrelli does not have a bad guy waiting in the attic. She has a bad guy waiting down the hall... _Sylar_."

Ando looked up in thought. "Well what if..." He paused. "...Maybe Angela Petrelli _is_ bad guy this time?"

"Hey, Hiro!"

From their place in the upstairs hall, Hiro and Ando turned around to face Mohinder Suresh.

"Hiro, Angela wants to see you now," said a highly aggravated Mohinder.

Hiro gave a salute. "Right, I'll get on it. Um... which way is her office, again?"

Mohinder turned slightly, and extended an arm as he pointed. "Down the hall and to the left."

"Okay, got it!"

"What about me?" pouted Ando.

"You can come downstairs with me, Ando," replied Mohinder. "It's obvious Angela wants to threaten us all in private."

"Do you think Mrs. Petrelli means anything by the threats?" inquired Ando, as he watched Hiro's back recede.

"Not at all," said Mohinder in attempt to calm Ando's anxiety; "as far as I can tell, she just wants some employees, and that's it. By tomorrow, I'm sure we won't even remember any of this nonsense. That's how little you need worry about any of this, in my opinion."

Ando presented forth a nod, and even added a smile. "You're right; everything will be just _fine_..."

0.0.0

"He just finished another sketch..."

"Let's wait until he's finished completely."

"But what if someone walks in?"

"Don't worry about it, Claire," Peter said with comfort. "This mansion's more than enough to keep everyone occupied in some way, as long as that way doesn't involve the word 'fun'. I would know _that_ much about this place."

Matt's eyes suddenly returned to their normal shade of dark brown, and he exhaled a deep breath, as if coming out of a state of meditation. He looked down at the last of several sketches he had made.

"I... don't understand this..." muttered Matt.

"Let me see," requested Peter, before he took the piece of paper into his hands. "I... don't fully understand this, either. It appears to be... _someone_ sitting in the new Company's office chair, but this has been drawn from a backside view of whoever this person is, and they're shaded too darkly. Let's look at the second one."

Matt peeked at it. "...I think you should pass on this one, Peter..."

"What?"

"It's nothing," Matt urged, crumpling the paper up in his hands.

"Hey, give me that!" Peter snatched the nearly-ruined paper from Parkman's hands. Peter _detested_ it when information concerning _his_ life was hidden from him. He unfolded the paper, and even throughout the numerous creases and crinkles, was able to make out the general picture all too well.

Claire appeared mildly disturbed. "Peter... what does it show?"

"Matt's right; it's nothing..."

Claire shot her uncle a pressuring look. "Don't make me start snatching things, too."

With embarrassment written all over his face, Peter handed the paper to his niece with an obvious lack of keenness. Claire looked down upon the drawing, and said, "What the... Peter, is that supposed to be _you_ playing the piano? You look so... _sad_... And the man behind you, with his hands on your shoulders... is that supposed to be... _Sylar_...?"

"I _don't_ want to know, so put it away, _now_." Peter seemed like he really didn't want to know. "Next picture, please."

Matt then looked at the first picture he had drawn through the use of his precognition, and appeared perhaps even more distressed than he had prior. "Damnit."

"What is it?" asked both Peter and Claire in perfect unison.

Matt gravely handed the sketch over to his fellow specials.

"Oh God..." muttered Peter. "Does this depict what I _think_ it does?"

"I just want to know _who_ it is..." Claire quietly affirmed. "Because of the desk, I can't tell from the angle, much less from all the wreckage and the blood... It just looks... just looks like somebody had their head bashed open..."

Peter studied the sketch awhile longer, thinking of how it resembled an image right out of a _Blade_ comic. It was a good comparison, but a bad mental image. However, the nature of the drawing was highly suggestive when it came to past events bearing a similar likeliness, and Peter hence decided to make his point. "And _who_ do we know who just happens to have a record of leaving the scene of a crime like this?"

"We _all_ know the answer to that, Peter..." Matt silently stated.

"Take a closer look at the picture," said Peter, pointing to a particular spot on the paper. "At the clock on the wall. It says 11:12 P.M. If there's any truth to this, someone's going to die in less than two hours. If Isaac could make such an exact prediction, I'm sure you can too, Matt."

"Peter... don't you realize _what_ room this is?" Claire timidly asked.

Peter's eyes widened. "It's... the Petrelli Office... Oh my... God, what if...?" He stood up. "Matt, hide the pictures. I'm going to find Sylar _before_ he gets the chance to kill someone."

0.0.0

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Hiro. I would like to know of your plans to date."

Hiro Nakamura looked Angela Petrelli in the eyes from his standing position, and tried to project forth a more stern, and yet professional appearance.

"I plan to remain in Tokyo, and fight bad guys whenever I can."

Angela sighed, looking down upon her files once more. "That sounded so much like something Peter would say that it's almost sad. Pretty soon, you won't be fighting bad guys who cross your path; you'll be tapping into the MPD's secure lines before you go _looking_ for trouble. Peter got shot last time he went on that foolish crusade. Now get serious. What are your _real_ plans?"

Hiro said nothing momentarily. "Just to help people wherever, but not 'whenever' I am needed."

"What if I told you that you could help more people than you could _ever_ imagine?"

"I would say 'no'," remarked Hiro in a firm voice. "I do not trust you."

"And were my words coming from Kaito, would you trust me any more or less?"

Hiro faltered a little. "I... I don't know, ma'am."

Angela proceeded to continue. "The Company needs people like you, Hiro. Your father didn't want this life for you, much less did he ever think you could handle it before your abilities manifested, but I'm sure he would agree now that there is no other alternative."

Hiro appeared... confused. "You... want me to take charge of The Company?"

Angela laughed in a formal fashion. "For that you must prove yourself. All of you are being given the chance tonight to do so. To change the world, it takes one step... and be it however small, the first step is the _always_ the hardest one of all..."

"You're a _bad guy_, Mrs. Petrelli."

"Hmm," Angela said to herself, grim smirk in place, "and what are _you_ of all people going to do about it, might I ask?"

Sternly, Hiro said, "You _wait_ and _see_..."

0.0.0

Peter had been searching the mansion for none other than Sylar, but had yet to have any genuine luck. Sylar was no longer in the library, though Peter had noted the fact that the book Sylar had been reading had vanished right along with him; the book being _The Sociopath Next Door_.

Peter continued to search the premises. He had left Matt and Claire in the dining room. Noah was still in the lounge. Mohinder and Ando were in the kitchen, and they had said Hiro was in the office with Angela. Peter hadn't even been wondering what Tracy was up to, but then he passed her in the small billiard room. That left one of a few places... and for Sylar's sake Peter hoped it was the sunroom, because if Sylar was in someone's bedroom, _especially_ the one which had once belonged to Nathan, there _would_ be hell to pay if the paramedic had anything to say about it.

When Peter entered the sunroom, however, he _finally_ found who he was looking for once again.

"Hello, Peter." Sylar hadn't even looked up from his book.

"We need to talk."

Sylar closed the paperback book, and looked up. "Sure. Have a seat."

"I don't want to."

"Why not?"

Peter griped incoherently to himself, before saying, "I'm not letting you kill anyone."

Sylar's brow furrowed. "Why would I want to kill anyone? I thought you knew me better than that by now."

Peter felt like his jaw was going to hit the floor. "Are you kidding me? You're responsible for more deaths than Lex Luthor himself."

"...What?"

"Don't play yourself for an idiot, because you're not. My subconscious was _full_ of comic books..."

Sylar sighed. "Peter, regarding the Superman statement, I have not been the primary antagonist of our universe for quite some time, in my opinion. Also, I am never killing anyone ever again."

"You keep saying that..." muttered Peter, before his voice became more audible, "but like I have said to you before, if a person can change, they can always change back. In fact, changing back is harder, and that's what you're _actually_ trying to accomplish, now that I really think about it."

Sylar eyed Peter with a look of slight puzzlement. "Peter... is there something you would like to tell me? I know you're hiding something. I can see it in the dark albeit compassionate depths of your arduous eyes."

"Don't you dare try to flatter my ego with that stupid, poetic _nonsense_," said Peter, averting the glance of his eyes for a brief moment. "Surely you haven't forgotten my mother's dream so quickly, or the apparent truth behind it that you of all people should appreciate. _Now_, I actually believe someone in this household _is_ going to die within the hour _if_ nothing is done to stop it, and so far, I can't think of a more likely culprit than who I'm looking at right now."

A flash of lightening.

A crash of thunder.

A silence.

"I'm... sorry, Peter. I don't know what to say to you that hasn't already been said..."

Peter brushed his dark hair out of his eyes, and then squinted through the darkness. "Sylar, I am going to keep an eye on you until eleven o' clock passes, so get up. This is a sunroom, and it's dark outside and obviously about to storm."

Sylar shrugged, pointed a finger, and sent several small surges of azure electricity over to the nearest candles; lighting them.

Peter still wasn't amused. "We're _not_ staying in here, and you are going to put those out. Dad would've had my ass for leaving such a fire hazard unattended to."

"Back when you still had all of your abilities, you were a fire hazard."

Peter grinned sarcastically. "I was twelve at the time I speak of, and _you're_ the fire hazard now. Now, put the candles out, turn the lamp off, and follow me. If you want to read that dumb book, you can do it in full view of everyone else."

Sylar sighed. "Very well, Peter. I never could hide from you..."

0.0.0

"Are you surprised to be talking to me?"

"N—ye—no. No, I am not."

Angela Petrelli stared Ando in the eyes. "As I have asked your good friend Hiro, what do you plan to do with your life now?"

"What do you mean?"

"The question was very literal, Dono Masahashi."

"Well..." Ando contemplated. "To continue working at Yamagoto Industries, and to marry Kimiko, of course... Oh! And to help Hiro catch bad guys at all costs!" he followed up his words with an assuring nod.

Angela smiled, and shook her head to a degree. "You really are quite the character..."

"Thank you. I guess..."

"So, I doubt you have told even Hiro of the e-mail you received from me prior to this night?"

Ando looked away. "No, I have not. Not _exactly_..."

"And after having read it, do you agree with your friend?" questioned Angela in a leading manner. "Do you think of me as a 'bad guy', or should I say a 'bad woman'?"

Momentarily, Ando said nothing. After a few more seconds obtained to pass, however, he finally broke the silence.

"Yes."

"I see," Angela replied, "Well now, do you think The Company as it is now would be better off with someone like you running it in my place?" Ando actually laughed upon hearing this.

"That is a ridiculous question. The Company is _evil_. I admit you had me fooled for a while with Sylar's staged death and everything, but what you _really_ did with Sylar's body... I actually think it's quite possibly _the_ most _horrible_ thing I've _ever_ come to learn of in my _entire_ life."

"It was but a bad thing done with a good intention," Angela informed, repeating words she had both thought and said many times. "Nevertheless, you are a candidate in the running now. We'll just have to see how this wicked night plays out for the lot of us. As for the e-mail..."

0.0.0

"Hey, is this Domino's? Yes. I'd like to order ten extra-large pizzas, please."

Mohinder covered his mouth with both hands to keep from laughing. He didn't know whether to blame the age old brandy or just Parkman himself on Matt's childish phone prank, even though it _had_ been Mohinder's offhand suggestion. From the dining table, Peter was seemingly half asleep with his head rested atop his arms and another empty coffee cup at his side, while Sylar had taken another break from his book in order to view Matt and Mohinder with a look bearing a mixture of detached fascination and blank amusement.

Mohinder whispered something into Matt's ear.

"Oh, and we'd like the works," added Matt as he spoke into the base of one of Angela's cordless home phones. "Yes, please. We'd like stuffed crust on said pizzas, all ten of them. Toppings? Let's see..."

Mohinder whispered a few more words into Matt's left-ear.

Matt nodded, and continued. "We'd like extra pineapple and onions, and anchovies coming out the wazoo. And a ton of pepperoni, ham, black olives, green peppers, mushrooms, banana peppers, hamburger, and, well, anything else you can add. Barbecued chicken? Yes, that would be nice. Cheesesticks? Sure, with, uh, with a lot of marinara dipping sauce sides. To drink? Well, we have that covered here, but why don't you throw in a few liters of Mountain Dew anyway. Make that... twelve liters of the Dew. You gotta do the Dew."

"God, you _guys_..." Peter moaned with his head down. "Couldn't you have ordered a plain cheese at least?"

Matt shrugged. "Make that eleven extra-large stuffed crust pizzas, ten with the works as I requested, and my friend wants a plain cheese and a case of Red Bull. What do you _mean_ you have a limit on Red Bulls? Just bring a case and we'll pay you extra."

"Matt!" whined Peter. "I _wasn't_ serious, and I'm not even gonna get into the Red Bull thing you're trying to pull over on me... That's just... I don't know, I can't think right now..."

Mohinder and Matt continued to laugh like a couple of teenage boys, as Matt brought the phone back to his right-ear.

"How will I be paying for this, you ask? Don't worry... Mrs. Angela Petrelli will be taking care of it _all_. Thanks muchly, see you."

Matt hung up the phone.

"I cannot _believe_ you actually did that!" Mohinder laughed hysterically.

Matt laughed again. "Well Mrs. Angie Painy in my assy won't have to worry about another caterer tonight, at least."

"You should call an emergency repairman next..."

"Oh hell, I really should, shouldn't I?"

"Will you two cut that the hell out?" Peter griped, sitting up in his chair. "This is still a _serious_ situation we're all in, and you think the best way to deal is by _ordering a dozen pizzas? _What drugs have you two been taking, exactly?"

Mohinder sighed. "Peter, you know we're not on drugs. We're just, you know, trying to teach Angela a lesson."

"...By ordering a dozen pizzas? Guys, come on..."

"It was actually eleven pizzas..." Matt said in the form of a low whisper.

"I suppose that was entertaining to watch, in a way," admitted Sylar from his end of the long dining table; book still in hand.

"...Total fail," groaned Matt. "We were entertaining a psychopath. Come on, Mohinder; let's go watch television in the lounge until the pizza arrives, even though the guy on the phone said it would take quite a while cause' of the big order. Then, we'll let _Angela_ answer the door..."

Peter couldn't do anything but shake his head again. As if his mother would _actually_ pay for the pizzas.

Matt was about to exit through the hollow frame that connected the hall to the dining room, when Ando entered first.

"You're up, Matt," said Ando simply.

Matt groaned all over again. "Well, how was it for you?"

"I'd rather not say right now," replied Ando, "I just want to get this all over with so Hiro and I can teleport out of here. I'm sure that once Angela Petrelli's spoken to everyone, we can all go home."

Matt looked back to Mohinder for some more elaborate input.

"She'll insult you, surely enough," Mohinder insisted, "But even if you feel insulted by her, don't let it show. I think she gains too much pleasure out of stripping someone of their pride and dignity. She's also probably going to try and rope you into something involving another Company-related operation, but I'm sure I know how you'll respond to _that_ this time around."

Matt suddenly felt a headache coming on. Maybe a migraine. Either way, he nodded his thanks to Mohinder, and headed for the staircase.

0.0.0

"Okay, I'm stripes, you're solids. You have any game?"

"Oh... maybe a little..."

Noah Bennet aligned his pool cue, and made his first strike.

The 3 ball went into the left-hand pocket, the 5 ball into the right-hand pocket – both at the same time.

Tracy approved. "Not bad."

Noah moved to another side of the table, and managed to knock the 6, 7, and 1 solids all into different pockets through the use of one of Tracy's striped balls.

"I guess I do have a _little_ game left in me," Noah said, quietly musing to himself.

After Noah had finally missed a shot, Tracy prepared to take her turn. However, much more was on her mind than the current game at hand; such as the _other_ game at hand which had begun _prior_ to the current game at hand. Tracy was confusing herself a little, but her thoughts made sense to her, and this was all that mattered to the Ice Queen in the end.

"So why haven't you left?" inquired Tracy, before she aligned her pool cue with the white ball.

Noah stared at the billiard board, and said, "I take it's for the same reason you haven't left. Angela has something over all of us, or so it would seem. Also, we cannot allow ourselves to forget the nature of her most recently shared dream. In my mind, I can already see it now... I walk out the front door with Claire, and on my way home, someone mysteriously turns up dead in the shadows somewhere. Now, who do you think is going to get the blame for it?"

Tracy missed her shot, as Noah's verbalization was, to put it bluntly, throwing her off her game.

"What do you mean by that?" Tracy asked.

Noah made way to take another turn at the pool game. "Oh, you know; the way things seem to work in worlds like ours. Angela apparently knows who is supposedly going to die, and yet she seems rather desperate to keep all of us under this roof. If anyone leaves, the future she expects could be thrown out of whack, so to speak."

"That actually makes hailing a cab to the nearest airport as soon as possible sound like the most rational idea."

Noah appeared to disagree. "No, I am afraid not. I know Angela Petrelli too well. She has allies with her on this; it could be anyone; me, you, anyone. I haven't had especially good luck in these situations in the past. Were I to leave now, and were someone to die in my absence, the blame could easily be pushed upon me. Then, before I know it, I'll be presented with two options: become a slave for a malicious corporation again, or go to jail for a murder I didn't commit."

"I'd never thought of it like that, but you're right..." muttered Tracy, appearing ill at ease. "I can especially see your point about what you said about Angela having 'allies'... Who would you guess to be one?"

Noah attacked the board with his pool cue again, sending the violet ball into a middle pocket. He fully stood once again, and said, "If you want my opinion, I would say none other than _Sylar_ himself. Who better to set up a murder in someone else's name at Angela's request? He's killed with her consent before. Also, the sociopath's so desperate to bond with anyone now that he'd probably let the first person who showed him _any_ amount of compassion work his strings like a puppeteer."

Tracy leaned against the board; ankles crossed, and presented Noah with a questionable look. "I know I'm a little behind on all the Sylar stuff, but I thought he hated Angela now?"

Noah couldn't hold in his laugher. "He hated every one of us for one reason or another, but he doesn't think like a normal human being with a conscience. What he admires in a person is straight-forwardness, self-achieved power, and the ability to do as you say you will. He doesn't love; he respects. If you earn his respect, and then eventually his trust, he _will_ do almost _anything_ for you."

"_Creepy_..." murmured Tracy. "That guy better stay the hell away from me, or I'll freeze him and then snap him into so many pieces that he _won't_ be able put himself back together again."

Noah grinned knowingly, and leaned over the pool table. "Don't worry, because if he tries anything while I'm around..." The eight ball went in. "...It'll be _game over_."

0.0.0

"I'm not playing your game again."

"I take it one or more of the others have confided in you about the nature of their discussions with me?"

Matt knew he didn't need to answer the question. "If you're on some little recruiting mission, you can count me _out_. End of story. Last time I did you a favor, my life as I knew it became a living _hell_. In fact, I nearly died because of it, and at the time, I was more than willing to."

"So I made a mistake," said Angela, her voice stern. "I've gotten over it, and I'm afraid you're going to have to do the same."

Matt waved his hand in a generally rude fashion. "I was obviously doing exactly that until you came knocking on 'the door to my personal life' again."

"After my granddaughter's performance in Central Park, you are going to have to worry about more people knocking on the door to your personal life than just me."

"Oh, right. Let's see – I've had Bennet, Hiro, Ando, Peter, Danko's men, a dozen clones, and let's not forget _Sylar_. Those are some of the ones who made literal house calls. If I had to make a list of the people who made it their duty to mess with my life _outside_ of my home, it would _never_ end."

"I am sorry, Parkman, but pity does not come easily from me," replied Angela, "so let us get back to why you are really here right now. The world as you know it is going to change once again, and whether or not the outcome is tolerable _does_ depend on the events of this very night."

Matt met Angela's likewise dark eyes with a look of sarcasm, and said, "Right. Why don't you just tell me who it is that's supposedly going to die, and then I'll round up the good guys and we'll take care of it before it happens? Problem solved."

"This is one future that cannot be changed."

Matt wanted to groan. "I swear, I am going to leave before the nights over. You can blackmail me all you want, all over again, with more of your threats about people coming to take my wife and son away, but I must warn you... you are _not_ going to get away with it. All your talk about locking people away... _you're_ the one who needs to be locked away, before you can destroy the life of one more innocent person."

Angela chuckled, ill-timed as it was. "Oh my, even if you are not the sharpest tool in the shed, so to speak, maybe you _do_ have what it takes after all..."

With his arms at his sides, Matt fisted his hands, tightly, and stated, "Don't let anyone else into this office until at least half past eleven."

Angela arched a brow, though her expression shown she was knowledgeable. "Why is _that_, might I ask?"

"I think _you already know_."

0.0.0

"Claire... what do you think you're doing?"

"I'm sampling the zinfandel."

"You're not 'sampling' it, you're chugging it."

Claire smiled at Peter. "Let's have a contest. I bet you I can drink an _entire_ bottle of wine before you can drink an entire pot of coffee."

Peter appeared a little dumbfounded. "...You have to be joking, Claire. I stopped hazing a long time ago. The one time I was stupid enough to try that, I ended up crushing a few beer cans on my head in front of some loser frat boys before Nathan gave me a bloody nose the next morning."

A look of confusion surfaced upon Claire's face. "Uh, why were you hazing in the first place? You weren't in a frat house."

Peter sighed. "I was going through one of those phases where I would have done anything to fit-in with the popular guys, and I thought if Nathan could do it, then so could I. Unfortunately... every time I made a mistake that Nathan had made for himself when he had been younger, he always felt it necessary to _knock_ some sense into me..."

Claire noticed how sad Peter was looking after having mentioned his brother's name, and wanted to do anything she could to cheer him up. However, the fact that the person responsible for Nathan's death was sitting on the opposing end of the long dining table didn't help matters much. At least Sylar was keeping to himself, though.

Claire then stood without word, and went into the neighboring kitchen. A couple minutes went by, before Claire returned to the table with an entire pot of coffee.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Claire..."

Claire then sat back down, and leaned in towards Peter, whispering something to him.

"I doubt he would care..." Peter whispered back, though his words had been audible enough for Sylar to make them out.

Claire shrugged, and grabbed onto the open bottle of wine, while Peter poured himself some more coffee. Then, Claire said, "Ready... set... go!"

Sylar found himself ignoring the book he had reading in favor of Peter's and Claire's performances, wondering why the hell they were doing what they were doing. It was immature, badly timed, and rather pointless for more reasons than one.

Claire had to stop drinking from the glass wine bottle temporarily, as she apparently did not care much for the taste. Meanwhile, Peter was literally choking on his second cup of coffee, and Sylar found himself becoming worried that Peter was going to make himself sick.

The ridiculous contest between Claire and Peter continued for awhile longer, until Claire finished up the pink zinfandel just as Peter was about to finish the last of his coffee.

"You got pwned, Peter," declared Claire, before she began to laugh.

Peter finished the last of the coffee anyway. Then, he began to laugh as well. He wrapped an arm around Claire's shoulders, and pulled her close, and they both just... laughed some more.

This was when Sylar got the message. They had wanted to have fun in front him, or rather _without_ him, when he actually thought about it.

"You ever thought about going into the drinking business as a profession?" joked Peter, looking at Claire. "It worked out well enough for you in Mexico, since you can't get drunk, after all."

Claire chuckled. "I've already 'knocked' the sorority girls dead."

Sylar wanted to say something in the way of how he could beat Claire at that juvenile little game, but he knew he couldn't allow himself to say one word to her. He didn't want any part of their stupid little games, anyway... Though, it did dawn upon Sylar that with the exception of him and Angela, everyone else had found a way to turn a bad situation better; even Noah. In his paranoid mind, this brought about thoughts of a non-encouraging nature; meaning he felt everyone around him _wanted_ him to feel lonely _and_ useless. It made him angry.

It made him _hungry_...

"Peter!"

Peter turned around, as did Claire.

"Oh, hey Matt," said Peter. "How'd it go?"

"Don't ask," replied Matt. "Anyway, tell Sylar it's his turn now."

Sylar appeared even _more_ annoyed than he had previously been. "And why, might I ask, were you unable to give this message to me? I am sitting here, just as Peter is."

Matt finally looked at Sylar. "A while back, I went to a group for addiction, though my addiction was my abilities. Which you sort of know because you were 'sort of' _there_. Anyway, point is, if you ever make it to step nine, _then_ you can apologize to everyone under this roof. Though I doubt you'd get any closure since I doubt anyone would accept your amends."

Sylar seemed rather uninterested in Matt's mocking proposal. "That sounded ridiculous, Parkman."

"I figured it would to _you_."

Peter appeared surprisingly discontent as he looked up at the standing Parkman. "Matt, just leave him alone already. I'm sure he got the point."

Matt was grateful Peter no longer had his telepathy, since Matt's reactive thoughts had been something about 'the lovefest' again. Be it may, he shrugged, said something about how he was going to go and see what Mohinder was up to, and then exited the dining room.

As Sylar stood, Claire leaned in towards Peter once again to whisper something. "What time is it, Peter?" she asked.

Peter looked at the watch on his left-wrist. "A half hour till' ten..."

"Well after him, that just leaves you." Claire was keeping her voice level down to a hushed whisper. "Maybe you should follow him..."

Peter nodded. "I'll wait until he goes upstairs, and then I'll wait outside the door..."

0.0.0

"All right, Angela... I'm here."

With her arms folded atop her desk, Angela looked up at Sylar. "So, how are the others treating you?"

"Why do you care?"

"Just answer the question."

"They're acting like I'm not even here."

Angela gave a single nod. "And don't you prefer it that way? That lovely, soundless _solitude_... is it not wonderful?"

Sylar couldn't help it, and glared at Angela. "Just get to the _damn_ point. Half the people here aren't even taking your idle threat seriously, but I, for one, _am_. I know you, Angela... I understand the way your mind works... You said someone among us would die tonight, but you left the statement shrouded by mystery. ...But trust _me_, I _still_ have _my_ ways of finding out the truth."

Angela suddenly found herself unable to breath, notably due to the invisible grip on her throat through Sylar's telekinetic hold.

"_Tell_ me, Angela," Sylar hissed. "No more games. I'm _not_ playing this time."

As Angela struggled for breath, she found it in herself to remove a small booklet from the right-hand drawer of her desk. She gestured to it as best as she could.

Sylar relinquished his invisible grasp upon the woman's neck, walked up, and took hold of the book.

"What is this supposed to be?" Sylar inquired.

Angela coughed a couple of times, and then said, "The answer to a question."

Sylar then touched a few of the files scattered upon the desk, voluntarily reading their history. "Why exactly are you looking for someone to run The Company for you, or should I say _instead_ of you?"

Angela forced a smile. "Oh Sylar, I must respect my gift the same way you must respect yours. Abilities like ours can be a burden to not only ourselves, but to those around us, because they affect more lives than merely our own. I can dream the future, and you can understand virtually anything through simple intuition. We must use our gifts to help others; otherwise, we really are worthless, and will only end up mad that way."

Sylar looked away, trying to find the right words. "Angela... despite what you did to me, I'm... sorry about Nathan, and I am also sorry I tried to kill you. But, Peter won't forgive me, so I doubt you will, either."

Angela gave Sylar that all-knowing look of hers. "And might I ask... would you forgive me for having played God with your soul in question?"

Sylar said nothing.

"That is what I thought," said Angela. "Now go, and send in Peter. I feel no need to explain to you what _you_ of all people already know."

Sylar nodded, and began to turn.

"A few last words for the road..." Angela however continued. "If you are truly repentant of your actions, you _are_ going to have to prove it. Acquiring forgiveness can_not_ be your _only_ motive, or you _will_ fail. It will also do you well to remember this: If people tell you that you are crazy long enough, you _will_ start to believe it. Knowing and believing are two _entirely_ different things, and what you believe in is _always_ more powerful than what you know."

As he stood in the doorway, Sylar looked back over his shoulder one last time. "And sometimes what we've _learned_ **conflicts** with what we _know_..."

The door shut.

"Indeed... Gabriel..."

0.0.0

Sylar walked out the door, and was promptly greeted by...

"That was a nice, meaningful little conversation you had with my mother, wasn't it?"

"Peter..." Sylar sighed. "Have you been waiting out here in the hall for the entire duration of my received lecture?"

"Stop trying to sound smart. I've been here long enough."

Sylar said nothing, able to tell Peter was not finished talking just yet.

"Go wait downstairs in the lounge where most of the others are."

"Why?"

Peter's eyes narrowed. "Just.. _do_ it.."

Sylar looked away briefly, but said nothing more. He took the book Angela had given him, and headed down the hall, choosing not to tell Peter where he had gotten the book from. Sylar had known the book's general story just by having touched it, but he wanted to read its contents for himself, in the more traditional manner. Peter stayed where he was, and watched the taller man's back recede for a few seconds until he was satisfied Sylar was actually going downstairs, and then, he entered the Petrelli Office.

"Hello, Peter."

Peter decided he wasn't going to waste any time. "Mom, we need to get everyone out of here right _now_. You were right. Something... something _bad_ is gonna happen..."

Angela nodded. "Yes, I am and have been quite aware of that."

"You're a murderer. You want to be responsible for _another_ death?"

"You can say whatever you want to me, and it will not matter. Not anymore... especially now."

Peter's mouth opened to a degree, partially from shock. "So what if it's _me_ who's supposedly going to turn up dead on the floor tonight? Are you willing to sacrifice _me_ as well? Again? The same way Dad was willing to sacrifice Nathan?"

Angela's eyes remained locked with her son's. "If it were you... then I suppose I would have no choice but to accept it."

"I've heard enough of this _crap_." Peter growled. "I'm getting myself and everyone else the hell out of here while there's still time."

"There is no time."

"Watch me _make_ time," Peter hissed out. "And once I'm gone, _don't_ try to get me back this time. I never could understand you, and now I realize that it's because I can only understand human beings. As of now, hell... you're even crazier than Sylar is. Do you even stop to listen to yourself talk anymore? Have you _ever_?"

Angela pushed back her chair, and stood, walking up to her son. She pulled him into an embrace, and said, "I am sorry for failing you during the times I have. I tried so hard to be a good mother, but it's more difficult for people like us – to live a life of normality. Just promise me, Peter... whatever happens, do not allow yourself to lose yourself to the bad things in life, as I did. I lived the life I wanted to live... and I paid a terrible price for it. Just know that I love you, Peter; always and forever, my favorite son."

Peter sighed into his mother's hair. "I... love you too, Mom."

Angela pulled away, and looked up into Peter's eyes. "Now, do as you feel you must, but I warn you it will make no difference. Also... know that you have my forgiveness."

Peter's brow furrowed. "Your forgiveness? You're the one planning to literally authorize a person's death, which is no better than murdering them for yourself, and _I'm_ the one in need of _your_ forgiveness?"

"It will all make sense with time, dear."

"I'm still not letting you kill _any_ of my friends... or Sylar. I _will_ stop you..."

0.0.0

_10:07 P.M..._

Angela was still in the Petrelli Office, gathering her things together.

It was time, now.

She had stacked a few files in place, made a few calls, and sent a few e-mails, among other things.

Then, the door to her office slowly creaked open...

Angela looked up at the sudden intruder.

"I had a feeling it would be you, though I must admit the revelation is rather ironic. I imagine you feel you are doing the world a favor, however horrible you may feel for having made this decision."

Angela had made sure her second sentence had _not_ been phrased in the form of a question.

The other person said nothing; merely shut the door behind them. They walked closer to Angela, ever so slowly, and then... picked up the decorative, amethyst quartz from her desk.

Angela averted her brown eyes. "And I always thought it would be sheer abilities or a simple gun that did me in, but you can't have that, can you? It would be too obvious..."

Angela picked up a family photo, wanting it to be the last vision she ever took in.

"I-I don't want to do this, but I have no choice. I... I really am _so_ sorry..." the attacker whispered.

"And so am I... But at least this way, I can be reunited with Nathan... So that said, do as you will."

Angela meant every word she had articulated. She only... only prayed she really would be graced with her loved ones' presence in Heaven... that she had not damned herself to an eternity in hell itself.

As Angela stared at the framed photo of Arthur, Peter, Nathan, and herself, the assailant smashed the jagged object against the back of her head, and upon this action, everything faded to black for Angela.

And that was the end of it.

For her, at least.

For everyone else...

...it was just the beginning.

0.0.0

Noah Bennet walked into the lounge, only to find it deserted.

"Now where the heck has everyone gone to?"

Just then, Hiro walked in, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Hiro," said Noah, "have you seen any of the others?"

Hiro shrugged. "Actually, I was looking for Ando. I know I, well... wasn't supposed to leave, but I teleported back to Japan for a few minutes."

"Why...?"

"The mainframe computer from the Ando Lair was infected by one of those evil, _evil_ anti-virus viruses and I had forgotten it needed to be picked up at 11:00 in the morning. Otherwise I get ripped off or afraid guy at store will find Ando's... musings on the harddrive."

Noah chuckled. "That is very understandable. Sorry about the 'anti-virus virus' as well; those are nasty critters in the PC world."

"Yes, they are. But I must ask... where is everyone?"

Noah shook his head while looking down at the carpet floor. "Beats me. I ran into Parkman earlier and he told me Peter was telling him and everyone else to get downstairs or stay there. As far I knew, everyone already _was_ downstairs with the exception of Angela, so I really have no idea what all the fuss is about."

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Hiro continued to look at Noah. "...Should we answer that?"

"I see no reason why we can't," replied Noah, before he began walking towards the door. "I imagine Angela's _still_ upstairs plotting over something, so she probably doesn't have time answer it for herself, anyway..."

Hiro stood behind Noah, especially when he saw the way Noah had put one hand inside of his jacket – probably to secure a good grip on the pistol he was more than likely packing. Noah opened the door with his left-hand, to see...

"You guys just gonna leave me out here all night?"

Noah sighed, and dropped his right-arm to his side. "Tracy, what _are_ you doing out in the rain?"

The grille door was soon opened, and Tracy stepped inside, partially wet despite the use of her umbrella, or Angela's umbrella, rather.

"Thanks, Noah," said Tracy, "I realized I didn't have my watch on, so I stepped outside to look for it. Granted it was given to me as a performance award by a class-A bastard down in DC, but it _is_ a Rolex."

"And did you find it?" inquired Noah.

Tracy sighed, and closed the umbrella. "Yes, it was on the sidewalk as I had suspected, but the damn thing isn't working now because it wasn't waterproof..."

"Who's at the door?"

The others turned, to see none other than Ando.

"It's just Tracy," stated Noah.

Then, Claire appeared in the lounge, followed by Matt and Mohinder, who had come from the dining area.

"Oh, guess it wasn't the pizza after all..." muttered Matt, seeming somewhat amused.

"Well, at least we're all here for the most part now," Noah said, taking a look around at everyone. "With the obvious exceptions of Peter, Sylar, and our lovely hostess."

"Uh oh..." Matt said under his breath, before his voice became louder, "I forgot all about the... Even if it isn't time yet, Peter, what if he's...?"

Mohinder formed a look bearing an obvious indication of perplexity. "Huh? Time yet? And forgot about 'the' what?"

"Just trust me on this one..." Matt paused briefly. "If Peter's missing and so is Sylar, there's a chance that things have taken a turn for the worst, just as Angela suggested with her talk about the 'you know what' earlier..."

"I see your point..." whispered Noah, before he walked forth into the dining room. He'd get a real echo-affect there. "Peter? Peter!"

Seemingly worried, Claire made her way to the foot of the stairs, and began calling Peter's name.

"_What's_ going on?"

Everyone's attention was once again redirected, when Peter appeared in the lounge, as if out of the blue.

"Where _were_ you?" asked Claire.

"I was on the porch," Peter replied, holding his cellular phone in one hand. "I needed to make a call."

Mohinder then decided to bring the obvious to everyone's attention. "So that just leaves Sylar, doesn't it?"

Peter began looking left and right. "He was down here before I stepped out for a second... Oh, hell, I bet he went to hide in the sunroom again, since I told him he couldn't go upstairs without me watching him."

"I think we should find him and leave," said Hiro, being blunt enough. "I am not staying here all night, especially when there is no reason."

"I'm with you, Hiro," said Mohinder, "so let's go to the sunroom, get Sylar, and tell him we are _all_ going to leave... Is everyone here in agreement?" It seemed everyone was, so the eight guests began their search for the ninth. Peter took the lead, and everyone followed him through the dining room, back into a hallway, and then finally to the doorway to the reasonably dark sunroom.

Surely enough, Sylar _was_ there.

Sylar was reading, _again_, only he was no longer reading _The Sociopath Next Door._

"Sylar, get up."

"Peter?" questioned Sylar, having recognized the voice well before looking up from the book he'd been buried in. "Oh, I see... all of you are here this time. Sorry, I haven't killed anyone yet, which seems obvious from where I am sitting."

"We're all leaving," Peter said frankly, "but _not_ without you. In fact, I am going to be the one following _you_ around this time until at _least_ midnight to make sure you don't come back here. I never know when Mom will try ringing one of the others back for another insane, blackmail-related reason..."

"Peter..." murmured Sylar, looking down briefly, before looking back up. "I think there's... something you should hear... I think we got it all wrong; what Angela was trying to tell us before..."

Peter eyed Sylar suspiciously. "How so, exactly?"

Sylar continued to look into Peter's eyes from across the room, a very serious expression on his face. "When Angela said one of us would meet our end tonight... we failed to realize that _she_ **was** part _of_ 'the us' she spoke of..."

"Huh?" Ando sputtered. "What does that mean...? Oh, wait a minute..."

In the blink of an eye, Hiro was gone.

Shortly after this happened, pretty much everyone began treading or running for the stairs, and then up them. It was no surprise Peter made it to the deemed Petrelli Office first. However, the door was shut, and Hiro was standing in front of it as a human blockade.

"Peter... it would be better if you did not go in there..." Hiro said in a strong but shaky voice, though its tone was full of sympathy.

"Get _out_ of my way!" Peter shouted, literally throwing Hiro aside so hard that the time-traveler nearly toppled over to the floor. Thankfully, Ando caught Hiro before this action could come to pass.

Peter opened the door, and momentarily, froze in place.

"No..." Peter murmured, "No, it-it _can't_ be..." He ran into the room to take a better look. All that could be seen from the doorway's angle was the desk, a knocked over chair, scattered papers... and the bloody arm on the floor extending its way from behind the base of the very desk itself.

Peter hastily made his way to the apparent body on the floor, and as he had appeared to have known, it was the battered form of none other than his mother, Angela Petrelli...

"Oh God... Oh my God!" Peter yelled, "Someone, call a fucking ambulance! And quick, get me something to apply pressure with!" He checked for a pulse, and when there was none, he abruptly began chest compressions. No one in the room could see why, though... no mortal could survive having _that_ much brain matter exposed...

It really was a terrible and _very_ disturbing sight for anyone in their right mind to behold.

Peter didn't let up on his attempts to resuscitate Angela, however, and finally, Sylar made it his task to stop Peter before the younger man could make himself appear even more out of his mind than he was already making himself appear to be. Sylar placed a temperate hand on Peter's shoulder, and temporarily, locked Peter's bloody hands in place to keep him somewhat immobile.

"You _have_ to stop it; there is nothing you can do..." Sylar stated, despising the sound of his own voice, and words. "She's _dead_, Peter... She's dead..."

Peter looked up, to see Sylar standing above him.

"You..." leered Peter, visible tears in his eyes, "_You_ did this! I am gonna fucking _kill_ you!"

Finding himself free of Sylar's telekinetic hold, Peter sprung from the floor with his hands still drenched in Angela's blood, and punched Sylar in the face as hard as he possibly could. Before anyone could get a grip on what was even going on to begin with, Sylar was thrown back into the nearest wall through the use of his own electric manipulation. No one knew if Peter had taken the ability from Sylar that quickly, or if he had borrowed it sometime before. Needless to say, it really wasn't a significant issue at the present moment. Thus, everyone merely... watched; speechless, shocked, or lacking the desire to get involved. After Peter felt like he had continuously zapped Sylar with high voltage electricity for long enough, he ceased the use of his current ability, and Sylar fell to the floor with burn marks covering the front of his smoldered clothing and healing body.

Peter looked over at the others, and they needed no words to process his silent request.

Noah walked up to Peter's side, and pulled out his gun, while Claire stood at her father's side only to reveal that _she_ had been carrying a small firearm on her as well. Tracy joined them, her hands cold as dry ice, and then Mohinder united with the group with his own hands ready to fist and rip. Red electricity appeared in Ando's palms, and Hiro blinked out of sight, and then back into view with one of Arthur Petrelli's souvenir swords. As for Matt, he appeared _more_ than ready to send Sylar back into another nightmare, and he well knew Sylar feared his weapon most of all.

"I... I _didn't_ do it!" Sylar proclaimed in the form of a loud yell. "I _really_ didn't!"

"And we're supposed to _believe_ you?" Noah said with pure sarcasm.

"I _didn't_.. fucking.. kill her.." Sylar's voice was grinding and had even sounded somewhat desperate.

"I say we end him once and for all," Mohinder said in a dark voice. "Let me rip his very head off, and then Tracy, you can freeze it. Then Peter can set fire to the rest of him and we'll all know it's actually _his_ corpse burning this time around."

"Wait..." whispered Peter to the others, before he looked down at Sylar. "Just tell me, Sylar... Tell me _why_ you would _do_ this... do this to... _me_? Why...?"

"I _didn't_ do it, Peter." Sylar protested still more. "And I can prove it." He extended an arm, and called the book into his right-hand which had fallen to the floor upon Peter's first strike against him. Sylar opened the book, which was in all actuality a journal, and turned it towards the final pages...

Then, Sylar began to read... "I was standing in The Company, in my office. I could hear their cries. I walked down the hallway to the new Level 5, and they were all there. Hiro, Ando, Parkman, Tracy, Suresh, Noah, Sylar, Claire, and even Peter. I wanted to let them out by majority, but could not. I went back to my office in search of the keys, but none were to be found, and I realized I was all alone in yet another hell of my mind's creation. Then, someone appeared before me. They had been locked up with the others, but had freed themselves somehow," Sylar read, as the others listened intently. "The dream changed from there, into a more nightmarish one where I was overlooking my own lifeless body. The one who had freed themselves took their place in my thrown and with it my crown, and I gained the realizations that not only were the others now free as well, but that a number of them had turned. When I awoke, I realized a new leader would come forth from the ashes in this time of crisis to take over The Company, however expected or unexpected this leader is to me. Based on my own empirical experiences, anything _is_ possible. I am sure this will be the last dream I write down in this tattered old diary of mine, but I choose to close the book for good, finally knowing something advantageous will come out of a final chapter..."

Sylar closed the journal, and looked back up at the others.

"That doesn't make any sense..." Peter said, more to himself than to the group. "When I had my mother's power, I always woke up when I felt I was going to die in the dreams. I never... _watched_ myself explode or anything from another point of view..."

Noah approached Sylar, and extended a hand, though Sylar was well aware of the fact that Noah had no intentions of helping him up – he just wanted the book. So, Sylar gave it to him. Noah took a step back, and opened the journal for himself, beginning to flip through the pages. "Well, it is definitely her handwriting," Noah said, "but I am still bothered by this. And honestly, how does anything Angela wrote in here excuse Sylar as the _obvious_ killer he is?"

"I'll see if I can take care of that." Matt stepped closer to Sylar's unmoving form. He stared him down, and turned his head to a degree. Everyone knew exactly what Parkman was trying to accomplish.

After a few telepathic moments went by, Matt grasped his head with both hands, knowing that if he didn't stop now he'd be met with tidal wave via nosebleed.

"What was he thinking?" asked Mohinder.

Matt appeared to be shaking off his temporary headache. "I couldn't get anything except for 'they're here' and 'you can't do it, Peter'..."

Claire's facial expression went from angry, to confused. "That's... not very informative or anything. I take it 'they're here' means whoever murdered Angela, but what was that part about Peter supposed to mean?"

Tracy shrugged a shoulder, and decided to give her two cents worth. "He probably meant he didn't want Peter to take another whack at him. Anyway, I am getting the _hell_ out of here. I've seen quite _enough_, I have absolutely _nothing_ to do with this, and I am _not_ going back into a boiler room again – _especially_ for something I didn't do and had no involvement in."

"Are you crazy?" questioned Hiro. "None of us can leave. Not until we find out who is actually responsible for the death of Angela Petrelli."

"Hiro's right," said Claire, seemingly in full agreement with Hiro, "it's not as if we can all stroll right on out of here and carry on with whatever we want. There's _nothing_ human about that. Also, one of us will be walking away from a murder _they_ committed, while the rest of us will be letting them do it, and I don't know about the rest of you, but I can't have that on my shoulders. Also, I can't let myself forget that Angela was _still_ my grandmother..."

"I agree with my daughter," Noah stated, placing a hand on Claire's shoulder. "While Sylar is still the obvious culprit in my own, personal opinion, I am not narrow minded enough to forget the obvious. We were all being blackmailed by Angela, we've all suffered in some way due to her in the past, and we all had motive. I suggest we go back down to the lounge, have a seat, try to relax, and start the conversation with where we all were when Angela was killed."

Mohinder groaned, having had more than enough of this night. "Great. Now we could be here until dawn and _still_ have no better clue about any of this than we do as of now. Since we came into this office, we've already gone from making some sense, to making no sense, and then taken a step backwards to making _less_ than no sense."

"I am in full agreement with you, Mohinder, but I still think we should all do as I have suggested for now, unless one of you has a better idea." Noah smirked following his words.

A silence.

"Very good, then," said Noah, before he walked out of the office. One by one, the others began to follow him. Sylar finally stood up, brushing off his clothes. He was about to leave as well, when he noticed Peter had remained in the room. Following the smallest of sighs, Sylar once more made his way over to Peter, who was back to kneeling at his vanquished mother's side.

"Peter... you never want to stare at the dead for too long, or it _will_ haunt you to your grave..."

"I know that... I've _always_ known that..." muttered Peter. "But I also should have known this was coming. God, just look at this... Someone... someone bashed her head in, again and again and again... I can't even... _recognize_ her now... I feel like I'm gonna be _sick_..."

"You _will_ be sick if you keep staring at her like this... I really think you should come downstairs with me, now."

Still staring at his mother's decrepit, deceased form, Peter nodded wearily, still acting like he wasn't quite all there for the moment. "I'm... gonna go wash the blood from my hands first..." he whispered, "And... I... it wasn't even eleven yet..."

Sylar said nothing, but he did begin gathering the files from Angela's desk. Peter didn't seem to care one way or the other, since his only reaction to Sylar's decision was the lack of one at all. Peter simply stood, and walked out of the hell bound room, probably in search of the nearest bathroom.

After Sylar had put the majority of the files back in order, even the ones spotted with blood, he gathered them all together, and then, headed for the exit point. He looked back over his shoulder one final time, and said, "Oh Angela... you knew it would only be so long before you got what was coming to you. It had been far too long already. Just know that you did and always will have my utmost respect, from one form of monster to another."

And with that said... Sylar walked out the door; closing it behind him.

0.0.0

**A/N: **Well, two Acts down, one to go... Sorry again that this is so long, since I know longer fics with longer chapters can sometimes discourage some from reading, since a lot of people don't have that kind of time on their hands. I'll try to get the final Act up within the next few days or so.

But as it IS Thanksgiving today, hope _all_ you guys and gals out there have a nice and festive feast! :D

And as always... no flames, pretty please? But of course, feel free to drop me a review if something nice is to be said. :)


	3. Act III: You Say You Never Did

**A/N:** Thanks for the kind reviews. :) Sorry this took _way_ longer than expected for me to post. Between now and when I posted the second Act to this fic, I caught a bad bug that had me spending most of my free time resting.

Regarding this Act, I admit that while it was finished, I kept re-reading through it to see what I could add, and before I knew it, there were over fifty pages, so I decided to cut it in half and turn the last half into the final Act. Sorry about that, since I know I said this would be the last part... I also apologize beforehand for any typos, since although I did have this fic beta'd, I would never ask the person who volunteered to read over this fic to do so again in order to check for typos in the parts I added, lol...

Anyhow, hope those who do read this will enjoy it. :)

**You Might Die Trying**  
ACT III_  
You Say You Never Did_

So that was it.

Angela Petrelli was dead.

No, wait... that _wasn't_ it, was it? Not _just_ it, though perhaps it had been just_ice_ for someone.

One of the queen's pawns had taken her down... but the question remained as to _which_ of the pawns had taken it upon themselves to promote themselves _for_ the occasion...

So, at this point in time, seven of the nine guests were once again residing in the lounge of the Petrelli Mansion, and hopefully, something lucrative would come of the discussion...

And as Angela would have put it... it was time for the general discussion to get underway.

"Alright, let's see what we can do to decipher this mess..."

From her spot on one of the long armchairs, Tracy looked up at the standing and pacing Noah Bennet. "Who exactly made you leader of the group?"

"There's no point in arguing with him, Tracy," Mohinder said from a neighboring couch, "Trust me, it gets you _nowhere_ with him."

An eighth guest then entered the lounge, holding the manila files and papers he had swiped from Angela's office.

"Dare I ask where Peter is?" Noah inquired, looking at none other than Sylar.

"He said he wanted to wash the blood from his hands..."

"Well, we'll fill him in when he gets here." Noah decided it was best that they all get right down to business before another minute on the clock flew by, and Peter _did_ deserve some privacy at the moment, didn't he? Noah sighed, and then, to everyone in the den, said, "Okay – firstly, we know Angela was murdered at around ten. So... let us all establish where we were at that time."

Noah looked around the room, his eyes instantly falling on Sylar once again – who had just taken a seat in the same armchair Peter had resided in earlier during the evening, the armchair once having belonged to Arthur Petrelli.

Sylar smirked at mister ever-the-accuser. "I was in the downstairs sunroom, looking over Angela's dream diary."

Noah nodded. "I see... and how exactly did said 'dream diary' come into your possession?"

"After summoning me to her office, Angela gave it to me."

"Why?"

Sylar sighed. "Angela said I needed no explanation for what I already knew," he said. "I must admit at the time I may have misinterpreted her words, but by the time I had sat down and made it to the final passage in her journal, I realized what she had possibly meant."

Noah nodded again. "Which was...?"

"_Which was_ that I was _meant_ to know she would die."

"If you knew, why did you not do anything to stop it?" asked Hiro, still appearing as suspicious as ever of the man who _just wouldn't die_.

Sylar exhaled a deep breath, and said, "Because... because I knew she did not want me to... I recalled what she had said earlier... how we all had our parts to play. As of now, I realize my part to play is to serve as a mere decoy amongst you all so the person or persons legitimately responsible for this horrible act will have more time to prove themselves worthy of Angela's so-called 'thrown'..."

"O... kay..." murmured Ando. "I am... sort of lost here."

"Well you had better be careful with that, Ando," Sylar said, "because in situations like these, it is often the person who _acts_ like they know the **least** who _really_ knows the **most**."

Noah blinked, having taken in Sylar's words. "...Unfortunately that made perfect sense to me. Ando, where were _you_ in the time of question?"

Ando wanted to groan. "Do I have to?"

Hiro bumped Ando in the side, scolding him.

"Oh, alright... I was in the wine cellar hoping I could sneak a few drinks..." Ando said, seeming somewhat embarrassed. "I didn't want anyone getting onto me about how this was the wrong place and the wrong time to be stealing Angela Petrelli's European champagne, so, yes... that is really all there is to it. Oh! And I knew Hiro would really get onto me about it, too... There wasn't even any beer down there, so it's not as if I actually _had_ a choice when it came to low alcohol content. I _was_ trying, though."

As everyone looked upon Ando, they didn't know whether to laugh or cry. His story had been relatively ridiculous, but just insanely ridiculous enough to be insanely believable for some.

Noah turned his head, establishing eye-contact with Hiro. "How about you? I must admit it is awfully suspicious that you would teleport yourself to the other side of the globe at the exact moment of the murder – especially over a computer as you claimed."

"But it is the truth!" Hiro was apparently going to stick with his claim. "I know I shouldn't have done it, but I had no idea someone was going die in my absence or I _never_ would have left! I would have tried to _save_ her! I am a _hero_, not a villain."

Ando seemed to be in agreement with his best-friend, when he said, "He is telling the truth about the computer. I accidentally downloaded a nasty tracking virus in the Ando Lair when I was opening something, uh, on Yahoo."

Hiro sighed, saying nothing, and no one else did, either. They all knew 'Yahoo' translated to 'pornography'.

Thus, Noah continued right along with his interrogations. "Tracy? How about you? You were outside in the rain to fetch a watch, after all. It's a little funny you failed to notice such an expensive piece was missing hours ago."

Before Tracy could speak, however, Sylar chose to do so for her.

"She had the watch on when she got here."

Tracy shot Sylar a nasty look. "And just how would _you_ know? I never even pulled my sleeves up until I played pool with Noah."

"I heard it ticking."

As reluctant as everyone wanted to be when it came to believing Sylar, he was sadly very convincing in a way. Tracy noticed the manner to which everyone was looking at her, and she instantly became defensive. "Look, I really don't know, okay? One minute I was heading upstairs, the next minute... well, I really _don't_ know, come to think... The next thing I remember, I was outside in the rain, and my watch _was_ missing."

Noah turned to face Matt Parkman. "Do you have anything to say about this?"

"No, I do _not_," Matt said in a stern voice. "I don't go around pushing thoughts into people's heads whenever I feel like it. That was getting me into trouble before. Maybe you should ask _Peter_ about that?"

"Peter didn't do anything." Sylar had sounded and looked as if the topic had suddenly become more personal for him. In a vocal tone that was anything but polite, he asked, "So 'Matt', why don't you tell us where _you_ were at around ten?"

"I was actually in the kitchen, asshole," Matt replied with a mocking smile on his face. "If you don't believe me, you can ask Mohinder. He had me sampling more God-awful tea than I could handle in one sitting."

"So Mohinder was with you?" Noah asked.

"Well I did manage to lock myself in a closet after around twenty or so cookbooks toppled down onto my head," said Mohinder, "but I broke out of there fast. I'd rather pay for a new doorknob than stay in a dark closet."

"It does tend to get dark in the closet after you hide in there long enough..." Tracy mused, which only won her a reactive sigh from the bothered geneticist along with a few sighs from almost everyone else present within the decorative room.

"What were you doing in the closet?" Ando inquired, trying to mask his sense of amusement as he looked at Mohinder.

Mohinder took a moment to answer, recalling the events leading up to the issue. "I remember Peter told me I might be able to find some actual chai tea in there after he had spoken with Angela, but I didn't find anything. The cookbooks found me instead, because the closet's light was out. Funny thing is, I don't even know _how_ I actually came to be locked in there," he said, "though not because I couldn't remember or anything else along those lines, I just know _I_ didn't actually lock the door, though I suppose this mansion wasn't exactly built yesterday."

Before anyone could say anything in regards to Mohinder's statements, Claire said, "Well, I guess it's my turn. I was in Nathan's room..."

"Wait—you were actually upstairs?" Sylar asked.

Claire exhaled, and nodded. "Yes, alright? I know I wasn't supposed to be up there, after what Peter said about wanting everyone to stay downstairs... but... if anyone was going to die I _didn't_ think it would be _me_. I seem to have a problem when it comes to that particular part of life." She looked at Sylar, and smirked.

"Well that speaks for itself," stated Noah, who wanted to move along. "In my case, I must admit I was generally roaming the downstairs for some time contemplating to myself after having parted ways with Tracy. Afterwards, I went into the downstairs study, and really did nothing more than look at Arthur Petrelli's combat awards and his plated bar and LSAT documents. Needless to say, I did become bored quite soon... and that is when I entered the lounge, and ran into Hiro."

"Well this is just great," Tracy said with cynicism. "No one fessed up, so we're pretty much back to where Mohinder said we were earlier, only now, we've gone from making less than no sense to making even _less_ sense than _that_."

"Well... there is still Peter..." murmured Hiro. "He was pretty angry at Angela earlier..."

"I think we _all_ were," Sylar stated.

Mohinder couldn't help it. He rolled his eyes, and knew he was about to say something _no one_ would like the sound of. "Sylar, just... hell, nobody here gives a damn about your apparent undying love for Peter now, okay? Fact of the matter is: _someone is dead_. Another fact: _I don't want to be involved in this mess, but I am just by being here_. Last fact: _If Peter did have something to do with Angela's death, he'd have the perfect alibi in __**you**_. I really hope I'm wrong, but for all the rest of us know... that entire fight between the two of you upstairs could have been staged."

"You _shut_ your mouth right now, Mohinder," Sylar seethed. "I _am_ warning you..." If there hadn't been so many people around, Sylar knew he wouldn't have hesitated to attack Mohinder; in the verbal sense at the very least.

"Calm down you two." Noah shook his head a little. "Adding to the body count isn't going to accomplish _anything_, and Sylar, Mohinder _does_ make a decent point. Anyhow, we'll go find Peter and ask him to tell us his story in a minute," he said. "Firstly, there are several stories I have heard which seem to bear a few inconsistencies, notably Tracy's and possibly even Mohinder's, because the implied memory loss in them unfortunately reminds me all too well of an old friend..."

Mohinder's eyes widened a little. "The Haitian? You think he could be here?"

"That's sort of the problem," said Noah, who was pacing back and forth about the den. "If any of us _had_ seen him here, _how_ would we remember?"

"Wait—you think _René_ killed Angela?" inquired Claire, acting as if she didn't completely buy the scenario.

"I honestly don't know what I think right now," admitted Noah. He was becoming a bit exasperated, it seemed. "I just know I stand by what I told Tracy earlier, only in a different manner of speaking now. I told her I believed Angela had allies, but it never occurred to me until more recently that we may have allies among us who were working against Angela herself on this night," he said. "Possibly even her _own_ allies who were secretly allied with someone else _here_ and turned on her for that very reason..."

Many listeners in the lounge appeared anywhere from slightly to extremely confused by Noah's previous words, though they had gotten through to several people.

"So..." said Claire. "Maybe... René was working for Angela, but then... he began working with someone else... someone _here_... in order to... take her down as part of _their_ plan?"

Noah seemed very pleased with his daughter's deductive skills. "Yes, that is one way of putting it. Also, though, it could relate to those of us with alibis during the time in question or at any time around it. For instance, I could secretly be working with Hiro, and we could alibi each other throughout this whole ordeal long enough to fool everyone."

"Hey!" exclaimed Hiro. "I am not conducting evil business with you!"

Matt grunted a little. "He was just setting the scene, Hiro, so you can relax. I think he was talking about Mohinder and me for the most part. He does make a good point, but I actually _was_ with Mohinder around the so-called 'time in question'. I admit I wasn't present for the closet incident, but he got out of there fast enough to relieve me of the fact that I would not be sampling any more of his tea."

Mohinder side-glanced Matt in a scolding way.

"...Not that I have any problem with his tea," Matt said, "He fixed some damn good tea when we lived together, I'm just not really a tea kind of guy, you know?"

"...All right." Noah took a brief moment to gather his thoughts. "That wasn't really relevant to the real problem we all have here in any way whatsoever, but I do suppose you have explained yourself the best you can for the time being. That said, I guess we should go find Peter now."

"If he hasn't already bailed," said Tracy.

Noah shrugged to a small degree. "If he has, then I think we'll have our answer."

"Peter didn't kill Angela, and he has not 'bailed'," Sylar stated, sounding like he actually believed in his own words. "And before we disturb Peter, I'd like to explore the story of one other person amongst us, since I must admit I found a few inconsistencies _their_ story..." Sylar's glance shifted. "Claire – if you were in Nathan's room at the time of the murder, how did it go unnoticed to you?" he asked. "It's only three doors down from the room Angela died in. I'm sure Angela probably screamed bloody murder when she was attacked, as I have seen she tended to do. What I am _not_ so sure of is how you couldn't hear it."

"Leave my daughter out of this you son of a bitch," Noah warned, staring at Sylar; his expression stern and unyielding.

"He's got a point..." murmured Ando.

Claire looked away from everyone briefly. After she had momentarily glared at Sylar again, of course. Finally, however, she chose to speak. "I really don't know how to answer that. I was in Nathan's old room with the door shut, but I didn't want Peter to know I was in there, because like I said, he had told me to stay downstairs," she said, doing her best to explain. "Anyway, I was sitting on Nathan's bed, looking at photographs again, and that's all I can remember about that. I'm not trying to suggest that my memory was erased. I really _didn't_ hear anything, especially not a scream."

"I take it that's because there was no scream." Mohinder had speculated this, before looking across the room at a particular guest. "Sylar, I'm sure I'm not the only one here who's come to realize that Angela met her end in the _exact_ same fashion as your first victim, Brian Davis, quartz and all. I'm sure that first blow to the head knocked him out before he could get so much as a squeak out. Am I not right?"

Sylar said nothing. Mohinder was... correct. Brian Davis' death had also always been a touchy subject for Sylar, and he really didn't want to talk about it. He knew it had been bound to come up, however, considering the validity to Mohinder's reasoning regarding the manner of Angela Petrelli's death.

Still, _everyone_ knew about Sylar's first kill, _and_ of how he had accomplished it.

"Very good, Mohinder," said Noah, a small smile of approval gracing his facial features. "I can't believe I didn't think to say that first... Moving on, I think it _is_ time to go find Peter now."

This time, everyone was in agreement, even Sylar.

"So do we just... all go together?" asked Tracy. "I'm not so sure about the idea of splitting-up again. Not after the suggestion relating to the possibility of other people hiding in the house somewhere."

"I have an idea," said Claire, before she removed a cell-phone from the pocket of her jeans. "I'll just give him a call." She sped-dialed Peter's number, and brought the phone to her right-ear. Everyone in the room observed Claire rather intently, waiting to find out if or if not Peter would even answer.

And sadly, he did not.

Claire put away her phone. "Okay, I'm officially worried..."

"And I officially think we should get out of here," Tracy insisted just as she had before, appearing more than just a tad sincere this time. "I know about some of Peter's psycho moments, especially the ones that occurred when Nathan was trying to lock us all up. Peter even held a _gun_ to Nathan's head. I admit I'm not worried about being slashed to pieces considering my ability to liquefy when necessary, but I _am_ sure I don't want to be in the same room with Peter right now for _more_ reasons than one."

"Peter's _not_ a psychopath, Tracy," Claire said in a corrective manner. "I think we all know that. I'd be more worried that he would harm _himself_ right now. Just think about it. Friends, lovers, colleagues, patients, his father, his brother, _now_ his mother... I don't know if he can handle it again, _especially_ considering who he's lost now..."

Sylar stood up, still holding the files and such that he had yet to fully examine. "If all of you are too scared to go and find him, then I'll go do it for myself."

Mohinder turned his head, and then whispered something into Matt's ear, before Matt covered his mouth – apparently to keep from... laughing? Sylar noticed this, but said nothing. It was obvious they were making their stupid little jokes again. Well, fuck them _and_ their stupid little jokes, in Sylar's opinion...

Sylar departed from the lounge and was soon heading right up the nearest flight of stairs. Peter had never come down them, as far as Sylar knew. Sylar only hoped Peter wasn't back in the upstairs study, cradling Angela's literally bloody body in his arms or anything else along those lines... He'd seen Peter in near-catatonic states before, and it... really _wasn't_ a pleasant sight. Sylar could only imagine what Peter would have been like during those times had there been a few dead bodies scattered around in their shared nightmare.

Sylar made it to the top of the stairs. Instinctively, he was going to choose the hall leading to the Petrelli Office, but before he could take off in that direction, a persistent sound of the sorts caught Sylar's ear. He recognized the sound, very well. It was coming from... the library. Thus, Sylar headed in its direction; walking down the hallway until he had made it to the room he knew to be the small library. The door was shut, but Sylar was not particularly hesitant about opening it.

So, he did.

Sylar took one step into the room, and then, stopped rather abruptly. Peter was seated at the piano on the opposite side of the library, playing a very sad melody. He was also saying the lyrics to the song he was playing, but not really singing, per say, as his words were barely audible and not carrying any particular tune.

"_It's another thing for me, I just have to wonder through this world... alone..."_

Sylar stood still and... stared. He felt relatively horrible watching this. Scratch the word 'relatively', he did feel horrible, he knew. He truly didn't want to disturb Peter's privacy by walking up to him and saying something cruel and inaniloquent in the way of, _"Hey, I know your mom's dead and all, but you need to come downstairs and tell the others why you couldn't have killed her, because they all sort of think you did and that you're psychopathic."_

No, Sylar didn't like the idea of doing this.

The more Sylar heard Peter play, however, the more he realized he essentially recognized the song. He didn't know how, he just... _did_.

"_Stop... before you fall... into the hole that I have dug you... Rest, even as you... are starting to feel the way I used to... Don't talk about everyone because I am not amused by you..."_

"Cause' I'm gonna lose you... Yes I'm gonna lose you... If I'm gonna lose you..." Sylar quietly sang to himself. That's when he noticed Claire standing next to him. He looked down at her, and noted she seemed almost in awe; not about Peter's piano playing, but about... _Sylar_... or so it seemed. Sylar looked away from Claire, and steadily, approached Peter; stopping directly behind him.

Peter suddenly halted his playing, and bowed his head. Then, he whispered, "Are you just gonna stand there... Sylar?"

Sylar placed his hands on Peter's shoulders.

Claire gasped, as a familiar image flashed through her mind. "Matt's _drawing_..." she whispered to herself.

"Peter, we just want to make sure you're okay," Sylar insisted, even though he was lying to a fractional degree, as that wasn't everyone's true reason for wanting to locate Peter.

Peter slid to one end of the piano bench, ready to stand up. However, Sylar _instantly_ noticed the bloody piano keys...

"_Peter_, what the hell?" Sylar said rather loudly. His words had been just short of an exclamation.

Peter fully stood from the wooden bench, and turned. "I didn't slit my wrists, if that's what you're thinking... I don't know, I washed my hands... I... know I did, but... the blood was still there... afterwards... somehow, I-I don't know..." He looked down at the palms of his hands, almost appearing as if he _were_ in a state of shock.

Having already walked closer toward the piano, Claire swallowed. "Peter, I... really think you should come downstairs now, okay? Please?"

Sylar seemed to disagree. "I don't know how he'd react to the... 'questions' right now, Claire... Why don't you go back downstairs and inform the others of his whereabouts, and I'll stay with him until he's ready to come down?"

"No..." Peter quietly muttered, "I'll come... I don't want to be alone, with you, right now. Not you. Not when I'm like this. I don't know what I'd allow myself to do..."

Sylar and Claire had both interpreted Peter's statement in different ways; Claire taking its general meaning as Peter not wanting to get into another battle to the death with Sylar, and Sylar taking it as, well... something else.

Peter made his way across the library, refusing to make even the smallest amount of eye-contact with Sylar, or Claire. He stopped just short of the doorway, turning so he could inform the other two people in the library that he _was_ strong enough to rejoin the others downstairs.

Before Peter could say anything, Claire had taken his hand into her own, and said, "Come on, Peter, let's go... Everything's going to be okay, I promise."

Peter shook his hand free of Claire's grip. "I didn't need anyone to hold my hand after Nathan let go of mine, and I don't need anyone to fucking hold my hand through this, either. I'm _not_ that weak."

"Alright, Peter..." murmured Claire, before she headed out the doorway, into the hall. It was rare for Peter to use such language in such a cruel manner, but Claire supposed it was very understandable under the deplorable circumstances.

As the three individuals made their ways back to the stairs, no words were exchanged between them. Sylar figured he needed to say something about how Peter really _did_ need to wash the blood from his hands before approaching the others, but he decided to remain silent. Claire reached the base of the staircase first, and once she did, she was soon greeted by Noah Bennet.

"Oh, there you are, Claire," Noah said, sighing out of a sense of relief. "I see you... found Peter..." The pause in Noah's speech was noticeable, but considering the way the glance of his eyes had averted to Peter's hands and lower arms at the time of his verbal faltering, it was obvious why. "Well, the others are still here, of course, so let's get back to them," added Noah, before he began walking the short distances' worth into the lounging area.

Claire, Sylar, and Peter all followed Noah, and Peter especially knew the upcoming experience would only add to his so-called melancholic behavior. As soon as Peter was in full view of the other guests he had yet to see since his outburst upstairs, the talkative room fell temporarily hushed.

Ando whispered something to Hiro, while Matt and Mohinder exchanged glances. Tracy's expressions showed she was moderately disturbed.

"Is... everything okay?" asked Hiro, who had chosen to break the silence.

"I'm sure it will be," said Noah, ever the reassuring negotiator. Before Peter could even take a seat, if he even planned on it, Noah spoke again when he looked at Peter, asking, "So, where were you during the time of Angela's murder?"

Peter shut his eyes briefly, and tiredly, replied, "You know the answer to that, Noah. I was on the porch making a phone call..."

Noah 'mmm-hmm'd', and asked, "And who were you on the phone with?"

"Hesam," Peter said, growing all the more agitated. "I had a shift tonight at midnight, and I had to call Hesam, Emma, and my supervisor to tell them I couldn't come in to work due to a family emergency. I was exaggerating at the time, but it seems I was more than just a little accurate _now_..."

"I have a question..." began Matt, as he looked at Peter from across the room. "...What power did you have before the electricity one you took from Sylar last time we all saw you?"

Following Matt's question, Peter appeared to have been taken by surprise. "What...?"

"Well, you _did_ make physical contact with me a couple times..." Matt muttered, recalling the way Peter had touched his hand long enough to borrow an ability at the dining table; specifically when Peter had handed him the pencil and paper.

From the armchair she was seated in, Tracy then looked at Hiro. "Did he touch _you?"_

Hiro looked up, contemplating. "Well, I think—"

"I _didn't_ teleport into my mother's office to kill her!" shouted Peter before Hiro even had the chance to reply to Tracy. "I also haven't turned invisible lately, shapeshifted, put thoughts into someone's head, or super-sped anywhere. I _flew_ here, and _that_ was the ability I had when my mother was killed by _one of you!_" Seeming angrier than ever, Peter turned to face Sylar. "And _you_... _you're_ the lie-detector, _remember?_ Don't you _know_ who's lying here and who's not, or are you _that_ damn _stupid_ all of a sudden?"

"I..." Sylar stuttered. "No one's told any outright lies that I know of..."

Peter looked Sylar in the eyes. "Then _do_ it, in front of everyone. Lie-detect _all_ of us..."

Still holding the collection of files he was wondering if he'd ever get the chance to read before the night was over, Sylar stepped back, back, and back, until he had everyone in his view.

"No one here says _anything_ until you have _all_ answered," said Peter in a very demanding voice.

"Okay..." began Sylar, looking around at everyone, his voice becoming much louder as he asked, "Who here among us knows they killed Angela?"

Sylar looked at Noah.

"It's not me," replied Noah.

Sylar looked at Tracy.

"I didn't do it, either." Tracy nearly groaned.

Sylar looked at Claire.

Claire shook her head. "I didn't kill her."

Sylar looked at Matt.

"Wasn't me." Matt smirked.

Sylar looked at Mohinder.

"Not me, either," stated Mohinder.

Sylar looked at Hiro.

Hiro frowned. "Definitely was not me!"

Sylar looked at Ando.

Ando held his hands up, and said, "Hey, I didn't kill her, either."

Finally, Sylar turned to Peter.

Peter glared. "As I think you know, I _didn't_ kill my mother."

Sylar looked down towards the floor, appearing somewhat... confused...

"Sylar, answer me." Peter looked at Sylar with continued seriousness. "After hearing everyone, you _have_ to know who the killer is!"

Sylar looked back up, until his eyes were once again locked with Peter's. "No, Peter... I... I don't know... you were telling the truth... _all_ of you were..."

Peter appeared as if he was more than ready to lose his lights. With haste, he grasped Sylar's outer-arm with his right-hand; absorbing the ability he wanted as a spark of power transferred from Sylar's body, into Peter's.

Then, Peter presented Sylar with another stern expression. "Did _you_ kill my mother?" he asked.

Sylar didn't break eye-contact with the younger man. "No, I did not."

Peter smirked. "And was _everyone_ here being honest when they said they didn't kill her, either?"

"Yes," affirmed Sylar. "And now that you _know_ I am telling the truth about not having murdered Angela, I suggest, Peter, you think of a more _useful_ ability to replicate from me for the time being, because I don't think your current one is going to help you out much in more dangerous situations."

Peter grumbled something to himself, but then, he touched Sylar again, on the shoulder this time, before he turned, and took a few steps away from the other man.

"Okay, so... I wonder if you can all forgive me for being just a _teensy_ bit confused as well," Tracy said, "because now I am under the impression that none of us in the room are responsible for what happened to Angela, which makes _no_ sense to me. At all."

"Hmm..." Noah pondered. "There are a few explanations I can think of... Namely that certain people are covering for one another... Either that or that René is indeed here..."

"Wait a minute..." Tracy continued, and asked, "Noah, what do you mean by 'covering for one another'?"

Noah took a good look at everyone in the lounge. "Simple. If Sylar had known that any of us had been lying just now, he could have easily kept it to himself. Same with Peter, if Sylar is, in fact, the killer of our tale once again. Still, there are other options... if René is here, in this house, then he has enough control over his nullification to throw-off the abilities of anyone here whenever he feels like it," he assured the others. "So in my opinion... I think my old friend _is_ back in business with the Company."

"I see..." said Tracy, following a sarcastic smirk. "So now all we have to do is search this creepy mansion for your 'old friend' and our problems are solved... right? You _did_ leave out the part about said old friend being the only person in the world whose abilities will knock out everyone's here, giving him a great opportunity to kill any one or more of us, but hey – anything to find out the truth... right, Noah?"

Noah sighed, sounding relatively annoyed. "Tracy, please... do be **quiet** for _a few minutes_, so that all of you will hear me out. Now... if René is here, I do suggest we split up and try to find him, or at least any clues we _can_ find."

"And... what happens if we find nothing?" asked Hiro.

Noah looked to Hiro, and said, "If it comes to that, then we _will_ probably have no choice but to leave and pretend we were never here..."

"What?" exclaimed Peter, and all eyes were once again locked on him. "Oh, of course. That will work out fine for _everyone_ here... except _me_. My colleagues _know_ I'm here _right now!_ Also, the sheer _idea_ that anyone would suggest I just leave _my mother's_ body upstairs until someone 'happens' to discover it makes me _sick_." He leered. "So if any of you try to leave me here holding the bag, I can promise every single one of you... that you will _all_ pay for it..."

That... hadn't sounded much like the Peter everyone had come to know over the years.

Momentarily, no one said anything.

Until...

"Don't worry, Peter." Mohinder sighed, and in a reassuring manner, said, "No one's going to leave you here alone to clean up this mess by yourself, or to let you take the fall. That's only taking a _horrible_ situation and making it even _worse_, and I don't know about the others, but I'd still like to know who was _really_ behind all this while there's still time to find out..."

After hearing his friend's words, Matt sighed. "Mohinder's right..."

"I agree," added Hiro.

"And I _definitely_ agree," said Claire.

Noah rolled his eyes, emitting a sigh of his own. "I suppose I actually do as well, but unfortunately, we may have _no_ other options available if we _can't_ solve this mystery, and _soon_."

"One question..." said the ever inquisitive Peter. "Now that my mother is... dead, too... who _does_ that leave in charge of the Company now? You know, by default? My mother... never told me..."

Noah looked down in thought, and then, back up, and to Peter. "I honestly don't know the answer to that question, Peter, but seeing as I have been acting as her right-hand man ever since the new Company came into play, I suppose it very well could be me," he said. "I wouldn't know for sure, however. I'd need to see documents, as in a last will and testament."

Peter rubbed his eyes again, the cerise blood on his hands having crusted and dried. He just needed to get away from all of this for a few minutes. "I... I think I know where she kept that. I'll... go upstairs and take a look..."

"And I'll join you," said Sylar.

Peter's hands fisted the moment he heard Sylar's words, but he decided not to argue. He was so tired of all the fuss, of all the arguing; _especially_ with Sylar.

Noah then noticed something once again about Sylar, or rather what he had with him. "Sylar... what exactly _are_ in those files you've been carrying around with you?"

Sylar turned a bit, having already begun following Peter's lead towards the stairs. "They're some of the files that had been on Angela's desk in the upstairs study where she was killed. I'd like to read over them."

Noah nodded. "Hmm, and maybe _all_ of us would like to read over them?"

"Relax, Noah," Sylar said, trying his best not to seethe, "It's nothing you haven't read about _any_ of us before. Just the same old tracker-assignment nonsense of yours."

"All right, then," said Noah, acting as if he actually believed Sylar. After having given Sylar his pardon to leave with Peter, Peter and Sylar both left the lounge while Noah and everyone else watched them disappear out of sight.

"All right, then," repeated Noah, before he looked around the room once again. "I have a feeling how the pairing-up is going to work here... that said, Matt and Mohinder, you two take the cellar and the floor level in general. Hiro and Ando, you two take the upstairs, and the attic. My daughter, Tracy, and I are going to have a little look outside..."

Hiro swallowed, as he turned his head to face Ando. "The attic..."

In a slightly sardonic fashion, Tracy commented, "Well, at least he saved us all the trouble of drawing straws."

Noah couldn't help it, and chuckled just a little bit. "Okay, with that out of the way, let us get a move on and search for any signs of René, or clues."

Ando said something to Hiro in Japanese, before Hiro said something back to his friend in their native tongue.

Having overheard them both, Noah said, "As long as Sylar stays with Peter, I'm sure neither of you will have to worry about encountering any 'boogiemen' in the attic."

Matt patted Mohinder's thigh in a friendly manner. "So, are you ready to go exploring for death again, Sherlock?"

With a voice full of sarcasm, Mohinder said, "Oh, of course, Watson. Incidents like these were _always_ the highpoint of my life."

0.0.0

"Get off of their bed, now."

"Why?"

"Just do as I said."

"Well, where else am I supposed to sit and read these if you don't want me wondering off into another room?"

Peter barred his teeth. "Fine... Anyway, what took you so long to get up here?"

"I was checking something out down the hall."

"What?"

"Turned out to be nothing. But Peter..." Sylar paused, a disturbing thought of the sorts coming to mind. "When you mimicked another ability from me... it wasn't the hunger, right? You're... acting strangely..."

Peter rolled his eyes. "That question you just asked was so ridiculous I'm not even gonna bother answering it, and yeah – I'm acting 'strangely'. Maybe it's because, I don't know, _my_ _mother's_ **dead**?"

Silence.

"Anything you say, Peter," sighed Sylar.

Allowing Sylar to relax on what had once been Angela and Arthur Petrelli's lavish, king-sized bed, Peter began searching through the nearby closet of the mansion's master bedroom. He was already tired of talking to Sylar again when an _actual_ conversation hadn't even been engaged in for the moment. Peter had met another minor dilemma, however, as the box he was looking for was located on the very top shelf, and Peter was not quite tall enough to reach it.

Without even turning his head to look at Peter, Sylar said, "Just use your mind to get it down."

Peter didn't bother turning around to face Sylar, either. "And what makes you think I took _that_ ability now?"

"Because I know you, Peter. The problem is that I know _other_ things about you as well..."

"Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean..." muttered Peter.

Peter sighed to himself somewhat loudly, before he began calling the boxes down from the top shelf with the telekinesis he had replicated from Sylar. While lie-detection did seem like a nifty gift to possess given the situation he was in, Peter had known Sylar'd had a point about it not being the most useful one to bear at the moment... for a number of reasons... Finally, Peter found exactly what he had been looking for. It was the newer box, which Peter knew had to contain precisely what he was after somewhere within its confines. Peter gathered the box, set it down, but then... realized he had nothing to open it with.

This time, Sylar did look over at the younger man. "Peter... there's no need to try ripping it all apart or go searching for a box cutter. Just point your finger, and cut the tape."

Peter frowned. "I _knew_ that."

Peter _had_ known that... he had just forgotten temporarily. It'd been so long since he'd bore some of these abilities that his memories on how to use them were a little dusty. Nevertheless, Peter pointed the finger of his right-hand, and telekinetically, began to open the box.

As Peter used his mind to cut away, he then said, "Sylar... what exactly are you _really_ reading? Noah wasn't the only one downstairs who didn't fall for that crap. I know _I_ didn't fall for it."

"What do you mean?"

"Sylar... we _all_ know you are not looking at assignment-tracker records."

"Actually, it's almost like I am, in a way..." remarked Sylar. "But my, oh my... I never knew our dear Angela was so interested in psychology... though the library book was a hint, I suppose."

"What are you talking about?"

Sylar shrugged against the bed frame. "From what I have read so far on the nine of us gathered here, Angela made 'notes' of the sorts about all of us... including what she thought could be used to set _each_ and _every_ one of us _off_. Her notes among other things seem to imply that she _wanted_ all of us to begin roaming around the Petrelli Mansion while she was doing her little 'interviews' as well."

"Which means?"

"That she didn't want us to stick together."

"Again, which means?"

"Peter... it's rather obvious... she planned her own death in advance, and had we all stuck together, it would have made what happened here tonight less likely to occur," Sylar insisted, casting another, quick glance down to the file he was reading over. "There's really not a good deal of information in any of these, though, unless everyone wants to read a psychological assessment about themselves. Angela knew what she was doing, so she would never leave the puzzle's big picture behind for us – not anywhere where we could easily find it, at least. That would be too easy."

Peter said nothing, having finished opening the box. After he had unfolded the top, he saw he had sadly managed to slice a number of things inside _as_ well, but... _oh_ well. Sylar wouldn't have to know that. Peter was so damn sick of the other man's jokes. Thus, Peter unpacked everything from the box, which wasn't much, until he came upon a sealed file... the one he had probably been looking for.

Peter wondered, perhaps, if he should allow Sylar to read its history before opening it, but... no, Peter didn't need Sylar's powers to do everything _for_ him. That was weak, and Peter was definitely _not_ weak... So without another word or thought on the matter, Peter opened the sealed documents.

"Say Peter..."

"Can't you just... shut up, for _one_ minute?"

"It's been over a minute..."

"I still heard that," grumbled Peter, as he began looking upon _exactly_ what he had been searching for.

"Peter..."

Peter grunted. "_What?"_

"I can't help but wonder... why would Angela keep something like that, of such importance, stashed in an ordinary box in her closet where anyone can find it, and not in a more secluded and secure location such as a safety deposit box?"

"Because last time that was tried, said safety deposit box was broken into and the wills were messed with," replied Peter, before he began reading over the document he was the most interested in. "I know Dad never planned on leaving me a cent, but I do _not_ care..."

Sylar crossed his legs atop the bed's covers, and said, "Arthur _was_ very proud of you, Peter, right before I killed him for us. His last thoughts were about you, I'm sure. About how strong you had become. I hope you have come to realize that much."

"Sylar, _stop_ talking to me for a moment." Peter was trying to concentrate on the paper in his hands. "Okay... as far as I can tell... all... all of the family fortunes go to... _me_... It seems like my mother left... _everything_ to me... Still, there is _nothing_ here about the Company..."

Sylar sat up a bit. "Toss the will to me."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it, okay?"

Getting smart once again, Peter tried to actually throw the file _at_ Sylar, but damnit, Sylar just had to catch it in the air with that mind of his before it could hit him smack in the face. Sylar reached out, and took the file, before holding it with both hands; closing his eyes as he did so.

"There was another document in here..." Sylar said as he read through the file's history via clairsentience, "but it was removed... two days ago... by Angela herself..."

"Did it have to do with the Company?" inquired Peter, as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.

When Peter turned his head to the left in order to face the former watchmaker, Sylar made eye-contact with the stressing paramedic once again, and replied, "Yes, it most certainly did."

"Then _what_ did she do with it?"

"That I cannot answer."

Peter continued to sit on bed's edge for a few more moments, staring at the wall in front of him, before out of nowhere, he began laughing – just as he had when his mother had opened the front door to reveal Sylar standing there in the beginning to this dismal night.

"This is great. So _fucking_ great. Now that my mother's will proves that _I_ have suddenly become rich thanks to her having been killed, I could _definitely_ end up having my ass hauled off to the nearest prison ward before who knows _what_ experiments are conducted on me."

"Peter... you _know_ I would never let anything like that happen to you... right?"

Peter instantly stood, and turned. "I don't care if I _am_ your hero now. I can take care of _myself_, and with or without your help, I am going to find out _who_ among us is_ really _responsible for_ my _mother's death, and then... I will make them _pay_..."

"Wait a minute..." Sylar uttered, his voice becoming louder before he continued, saying, "Are you telling me you actually _are_ planning on making sure someone else here dies tonight?"

Peter once again turned his head, and stared into Sylar's eyes; blank expression on his face. "Yes."

Sylar didn't appear very thrilled. At all. "Peter... that is _insane_. You're _not_ thinking clearly right now, you're still partially in shock, and it's obvious. You can't—"

"_Just_ because I _can't_ doesn't mean I _won't_. _You_ of all people should know that..."

Upon hearing this, Sylar said nothing.

His eyes seeming ever so dark, Peter got back on the bed's edge, lowered himself to his hands and knees, and made his way closer to Sylar. When he had crawled close enough to quite literally get in Sylar's face, not to mention Sylar's personal space, he whispered...

"Do you want to know a secret? One I've never told you? One I never told anyone?"

Sylar's breathing hitched a little, especially when he realized just _how_ little space there was between his face and Peter's, but he nodded nevertheless.

With that same, expressionless appearance on his face, and his lips but a mere inch away from Sylar's, Peter whispered, "You _weren't_ the first person to kill Nathan... _I was_, and _I_ killed him _twice_."

After having said this, Peter quickly got off of the bed, and stood. "Oh, and Sylar?"

"Y-Yes...?"

"Hand me the part of my mother's will I was able to find. I'd like to keep it to make sure no one else here gets their hands on it."

Sylar handed over the file to Peter, in the traditional manner.

"Peter, I..."

"What?"

Sylar looked away from Peter. "I... I think that maybe the both of us should leave, while there's still a chance..."

"Why's that, and a chance for what?"

"Because... I don't know, exactly... something's 'off' about this entire situation, and I don't like it. I just can't help but feel that whatever it is has more to do with you and me than it does with the others..." Sylar's brow furrowed a little. "Again, I don't know why, but for some reason... that is how I... _feel_..."

"Right..." Peter muttered, retaining eye-contact with Sylar while he shook his head. "You 'feel', not 'think' that? _That's_ a new one. Either way, I'm not leaving. I am going to find out _who_ killed my mother, and when I do... Well, just pray that if the killer is once again you, that I _don't_ live to find out about it on this night. You killed my father, and I let that go... you killed my brother, and I let you off the hook for that, too... But if you have now killed my mother _as well_ or if you had _anything_ to do with it... Sylar, three strikes, you're _**out**_."

"I wasn't the only one who killed two of them, apparently..."

"Excuse me? How _dare_ you try and—"

"I _don't_ want to argue with you like this anymore," stated Sylar, cutting Peter's speech off this time around. "The point is that I _didn't_ kill Angela, and I wish that was the end of it..."

Without another word, Sylar quickly gathered the files he had overlooked, placing them into a single, neat stack. Afterwards, he stood from the bed, and placed the files behind the bed frame.

"Uh, why did you do that?" asked Peter.

"I don't want Noah or anyone else using me as an excuse to justify their irrationality on endless theories that are a waste of time. Taking that into consideration..." Sylar's eyes shifted downwards. "For the love of God, Peter, wash the dried blood _off_ of your hands already. You are acting _out_ of your mind, and you look it, too."

"Well maybe it's about damned well time..." whispered Peter. Then, he noticed the way Sylar was looking at him. So much worry. So much concern. So much... sympathy? Peter's glance temporarily shifted to the side. "Sylar... when we were in the study after my mother was killed, did you ever notice that... that..."

"What?"

Peter shook his head quickly. "Nothing."

0.0.0

"Here we go again..."

"I _swear_ I was just about to say that."

"Well, at least you fixed the lights earlier."

Mohinder nodded. "That I did."

Matt ventured a bit further into the dark cellar, a particular thought crossing his mind. "Mohinder?"

"Yes?"

"About the murder... do you have any idea who could have committed it?"

Mohinder sighed. "I think we _both_ know who the culprit is."

Matt shrugged. "Still, what if it's not Sylar? Who would be your next choice?"

"Well, I suppose it's pretty much as Noah suggested," said Mohinder, glancing up at the row of imported, European champagne, and then down to a row of chardonnay. "Like he said, we all had motive, and we have all suffered in some way due to her in the past. If Sylar didn't kill Angela, I guess it really could be any one of us." He turned his head, once again looking at Matt. "That is merely a 'what if' scenario, though."

Matt looked down, and then, to his right, at what had been Arthur Petrelli's imported assortment of scotch.

"Well," Matt said, "Noah seems to think there's some sort of 'teamwork' theme or whatever going on with two or more of us here, though the way the super-duo of Hiro and Ando are always the only team never getting much crap from anyone about stuff like this never fails to _not_ surprise me."

Mohinder nodded again, as he and Matt continued to walk through the cellar, and into the next wine aisle.

"That never surprises me, either," replied Mohinder. He took a moment to remove a small flashlight from his pocket, and then, continued with what he wanted to say. "To be honest, though, I don't think Hiro and Ando, or even Hiro or Ando, are capable of committing a crime so heinous."

"Even after the whole thing with Adam and the coffin, what Hiro saw in a possible future about Ando, and where Hiro put you?" inquired Matt.

"Hiro fights for honor and justice, unlike most of us, and regarding Ando, I'm not even sure he knows what he fights for other than whatever he thinks Hiro's fighting for on a moment-to-moment basis."

"I don't know, I guess that was sort of where I was going," said Matt.

Mohinder raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well... I know when we were in the kitchen, after you'd gotten out of the storage closet, that when we saw Ando come out of the cellar, I was thinking of how I'd, well..."

"How you'd what?"

Matt sighed. "Of how I never saw him come down here in the first place while you were searching for the chai tea Peter told you about..."

"And you _never_ left the kitchen, even for a second?"

Matt shook his head. "Nope. Like I told you, I just sat at the table and had another glass of brandy, and that's where I was the _whole_ time during the 'time in question'."

Mohinder shined his flashlight in a random direction, not seeing anything he hadn't seen before. "Matt, if you knew this, then why didn't you bring it up earlier? I'm sure Noah would have come up with another theory, probably something regarding a possibility on how Hiro hadn't really teleported back from Japan, but of how he had more plausibly teleported from the cellar after dropping Ando off."

"That's _exactly_ why I didn't say anything," Matt said, "because the idea of that is just... well, disturbing."

Mohinder briefly shined his flashlight in Matt's face. "More or less disturbing than the idea of Sylar as the killer?"

Matt waved his hand. "Cut that out, Mohinder." After the light was out his face, Matt said, "And it's_ more_ disturbing, and you know that. Sylar's _a_ killer whether he's _the_ killer or not, so messed-up as this may sound with the redemption stunt he's trying to pull, I'm content with the idea that he failed – and probably way _before_ Angela's death," he stated, pondering over his own words. "Who knows _how_ many people like us he's killed between now and the last time I saw him? Which would also mean... who knows how many powers he has that we _don't_ know about?"

Unseen by Matt, Mohinder rolled his eyes. "Matt, don't talk like that. You can't put this on yourself. I get it, though. If Sylar murdered Angela, that makes you feel responsible for her death in a way by ever letting Sylar go. If someone else did it, then it's not your fault at all, but it's still unpleasant for you to think of any of the others doing such a horrible thing."

"What's your point, doctor?"

Mohinder emitted a slight chuckle. "That you feel it's a lose-lose situation. Either you're partially responsible, and you feel bad, or you're not responsible, and you still feel bad, so you're trying to figure out why the latter doesn't make you feel as terrible about what happened as the former."

"And don't you feel bad about what happened either way?"

"Of course I do," said Mohinder, "I'm not a psychopath. It doesn't matter how much or how little I cared for Angela, because a life is a life, and murder is murder. As apathetic as some of the people seem to be here, I know for a fact that even Noah's feeling just as bad as we do about everything, and Tracy's doing the same thing as Peter by hiding real emotions behind false ones."

Matt exhaled. "I guess you're right, which doesn't surprise me. So... you're basically telling me not to feel bad about feeling bad?"

"Yes," stated Mohinder. "As long as you didn't murder Angela, you have nothing to feel guilty about. Hell, if Sylar did kill her, I could blame myself then for not having put a stop to him during the chances I had. All that said, I'd like to change the subject," said the geneticist. "I know where this conversation is heading."

"Where?"

"Nowhere. That's the problem."

"I don't get it."

"I don't want to get back into the weird stuff about you and the 'nightmare land' you trapped Sylar in before Peter joined him there, which is _why_ the conversation is going nowhere."

Matt chortled ever so slightly. "What makes that a 'problem', then?"

Mohinder huffed, and said, "You're the only one of us I could ever have a 'normal' conversation with. I never had to converse with you like I was giving another one of my many speeches about whether or not 'what is' contradicts with what 'could be'."

"That is... how you talk to pretty much everyone now that I think about it, Mohinder."

"I know that, but as I have a sense of humility, I'm willing to admit that sometimes what I say _is_ crap, and _you_ don't always buy into it, so don't subscribe to that column now."

"You're right." Matt laughed. "That _was_ crap."

"See?" Mohinder began to laugh as well.

"I'm still not canceling my subscription to that column, though."

Mohinder lightly bumped Matt in the side with his elbow. "Very funny."

"Hey, you're laughing, too." Matt calmed his laughter, and stated, "But fine. Taking all that 'crap' into account, I don't think anyone's down here, so this is a _complete_ waste of our time."

Mohinder chuckled once again. "Well, you could always bag some more brandy before we go back up to the kitchen and reminisce about the never-ending insanity of our lives?"

"Speaking of which... wonder if the pizza will arrive any time soon..." Matt pondered, as he turned away from Mohinder. "I had completely forgotten all about that, and it's taking a while for it to get here. The last thing we need now is for a teenager to show up at the front door to this mansion with eleven pizzas, some chicken wings, a ton of Mountain Dew, and a case of Red Bull. Especially when we _know_ Angela won't be able to pay for any of it... Though I guess that means we could all split the bill, right?"

No answer.

Matt sighed. "C'mon, Mohinder, try to keep in mind that the pizza _was_ your idea – I just happened to be there to act out on it for you, not to mention the several glasses of brandy I'd had, so don't get so uptight about it."

No answer.

This time, Matt groaned, and spun around. "Look, you know I'm never in the mood for your 'sneak up on me' jokes so... wait a minute... Mohinder? Where... where are you...?" His flashlight went out momentarily, before he began shaking it to see if it would come back on.

Then, Matt was tapped on the shoulder from behind, causing him to jump in place. "Ugh! Mohinder, _what_ did I just tell you about that?"

He turned back around.

He did see Mohinder, only Mohinder was on the floor, unconscious...

The person standing in front of Matt was someone _else_.

0.0.0

"Did you find anything in any of the rooms you searched?"

"Nope. Nothing, and no one. You?"

"I did not find anyone, either. Or any clues."

A shrug. "Figures, but now that we're up _here_..."

"I don't like it up here either, Ando-kun..."

"And you know I don't, Hiro..." said Ando.

After having made their ways to the top of the attic stairs, the two Japanese men stood in place temporarily and examined their new surroundings.

Hiro swallowed, taking a step forwards onto a creaky floorboard, at the exact same moment thunder crashed throughout the night sky outside.

Ando forced out a single laugh. "Well, it's obvious that no one's up here, so let's just go back down and search the upstairs again?"

Hiro shook his head. "No, we have a job to do, Ando. True heroes never back down in the face of fear. Or in the presence of a creepy old attic..."

Ando nodded. "Right you are, Hiro. But... one thing..."

"Yes?"

"Should attic get _too_ creepy, you teleport us out of it right away," said Ando, before he smiled.

Hiro sighed. "Sure, Ando, I'll do that..."

They walked closer to the center of the attic, where there was a single light bulb hanging down with a switch to pull; the switch in the form of a long string.

Hiro looked from the light bulb, to Ando, and said, "Don't look at me, I'm not tall enough."

Ando nodded, taking a few more steps toward the hanging switch and bulb. He jumped up a couple of times, missing, but on the third try, he succeeded.

"Good job, Ando!"

"Thanks!" Ando smiled again, dusting off his hands in a typical 'piece o' cake' fashion. "It is still pretty dark in here, but at least Noah Bennet gave us the flashlights."

"Thank goodness for that, at least," Hiro said, "but I could have done without your suggestion about them being bombs."

"Well _you_ made the suggestion about the poison wine earlier."

"Ando, that was a little more believable."

Ando sighed, figuring that Hiro probably had a point. "I guess you're right, I'm just having a hard time trusting anyone here right now..."

Hiro's brow furrowed. "Why do you say that?"

"Relax, Hiro. I didn't mean you."

"I know that," Hiro said, "but why would you not trust anyone else here?"

Ando sighed again. "We've been over this, even if we haven't been over it tonight. You trust people too easily, Hiro... You want to believe that even when a person has evil inside, they have good inside, too, but sometimes... there is no good. Sometimes, a person is just evil."

"When someone is evil it's because they made a choice to be," affirmed Hiro. "And if someone can make a choice to be evil, they can make a choice to be good."

"Yes, but maybe they don't _want_ to be good."

This time, Hiro sighed. "I'll go search the back, and you can search the rest, okay?"

Ando made a signaling gesture with his hand. "Wait a minute, is this why you had us split up to search the upstairs? Because you didn't want to have this talk with me?"

"It is getting repetitive."

"Is that really it, or are you worried that you're starting to agree with me?"

Hiro looked away, and uttered, "Both."

After giving his best-friend his answer, Hiro turned, and began walking towards the variety of stacked boxes and random other items located in the back of the attic. It was much darker back there, but there probably was more light to be found, and even if there wasn't, Hiro would make due.

However, Ando ultimately chose to follow his friend. "Hiro... I'm sure everyone's talking about it right now."

"About what?"

"You know, about who they think killed Angela Petrelli."

"I don't want to talk about that."

"Do you want to talk about _anything_ right now?" asked Ando, who seemed somewhat perplexed. "I don't understand. You had _no_ trouble going through the possibilities before Mrs. Petrelli was killed, but afterwards, you didn't even want to consider them."

Hiro remained silent, using his flashlight to look about.

"...Or _have_ you considered them?" added Ando.

"Of course I have," Hiro said, "but my own thoughts are disturbing me."

"Why? Hiro, with the situation all of us are in, there's nothing suspicious about, well, suspecting people."

Hiro sighed in defeat. "Fine, Ando. I do agree with you, but I also... agree with Sylar..."

"Huh...?"

"I don't think he did it." Hiro turned his head, presenting his friend with a serious look. "I'm sure everyone is speculating right now over how he accomplished the goal of killing Angela Petrelli, or about how Peter and him did together, or even just Peter himself, but..."

Ando wanted to hear what Hiro had to say. "But what?"

"The look on Sylar's face... whenever Peter gets upset, Sylar gets upset. When Peter feels pain, Sylar feels pain."

"But what about what Noah Bennet and Dr. Suresh said?" Ando asked, "About everything between them being staged?"

"One cannot fake emotion like that, and Peter and Sylar cannot fake the lack of it. When they do, it only shows more."

Ando shrugged, and began walking again, however slowly. "I'm still confused about whatever's going on between them, but whatever it is isn't really relevant to me, since I don't think either of them killed Angela, either."

Hiro caught up to Ando, and asked, "Well if you don't think they did it for my reasons, what are yours?"

"Easy, I think someone else killed her."

Hiro frowned. "I _did_ figure as much."

"Oh, I mean, I already have my own suspects."

"See, that's part of what I _didn't_ want to talk about," said Hiro, before he eyed the set of bicycles in the corner, one of them being a children's bike. "Just talking about things like this with one another... a group of people who should be allies, a group of people containing families and friends and... something like this can tear all of that apart in the name of hatred. I want nothing to do with that."

"I don't want anything to do with that either, Hiro, but we _do_ have to find out who's responsible for Angela Petrelli's death, and how can we do that without talking about it?"

Hiro knew he couldn't argue with Ando's words. "Alright. Tell me your thoughts on the matter."

With an unmasked sense of excitement, Ando turned to face Hiro, saying, "Okay, I do have a few ideas, but right now, I would suspect Dr. Suresh or Matt Parkman."

"Why would you suspect Mohinder or Matt of all people?"

"Because whoever killed Angela chose to make this personal, and Sylar killed Mohinder's father and tortured Matt, so now, what if Mohinder or Matt or even Mohinder _and_ Matt killed Angela so Peter would hate Sylar in order to get back at Sylar?"

Hiro wanted to roll his eyes. "Ando, that's very 'out there', even for _you_, and not just because of who you chose to name, but for the motive itself. Anyone here could use that same motive as a reason to have killed Angela."

Ando nodded with a smile on his face. "_Exactly_. Angela knew she would die, but did whoever the killer is _know_ they would kill her before they got here?"

Hiro blinked. "I am confused, Ando."

"Think about it. Everyone here was set-off to begin with by Sylar's presence, but Mohinder and Matt more so than anyone." Ando didn't wait too long to continue, so he spoke up again before Hiro could cut him off, saying, "They both avoided Sylar every chance they got, saying practically nothing to him once we left the dining table _until_ Angela was dead. Then, it's like... 'Hey, _Sylar_ did it, so let's kill him!' and then, 'Hey, this is why _Sylar_ had to have done it!', and, and then Mohinder made the jokes about _Sylar_ and Peter being—"

"_That's_ enough, Ando." Hiro shook his head again. "I am not talking about that. It's none of my business, though I do see your point. I could also find reasons why they couldn't have done it, just like I could find reasons why the culprit is you, and reasons why the culprit is not you."

"What?"

"It's your turn to relax," stated Hiro. "I too have 'suspects' listed in my head, but you are not one of them."

"So who _would_ you guess did it, then?"

Hiro sighed, but in a louder, more exasperated fashion. "I suppose Noah Bennet or even Claire Bennet... but the theory I came up with may be even crazier than yours. I think since Noah was already working for Mrs. Petrelli to begin with, that she could have persuaded him to kill her or at the very least persuaded him to find someone who would... Either way... the way he talks when he takes charge... I think he knows _much_ more than he has led any of us to believe he knows, and regarding Claire Bennet, I don't know... something about her seems 'off' on this night..." said Hiro, his words having trailed towards the end. "If Claire did murder Mrs. Petrelli, I'm sure her father would know, and if that is the case, I'm sure Noah would do anything to protect his daughter."

Ando nodded, somewhat eagerly. "I agree. Maybe you and I should teleport around the Petrelli Mansion and see what everyone is up to? The possibilities really are endless... and you never know... whoever killed Angela may strike again before the night is up... and we have to save them!"

"I'm not so sure about what you said, especially, well, all of it... but in regards to the part about the killer striking again..." Hiro stood tall, and thought for a moment. "Angela kept using the words '_one_ of us here', and it turned out to be her herself. She could dream the future. If someone else had died in her dreams about tonight, I'm sure she would have said something about it."

"Hiro, we can't ask her if there was any more to her dreams now," said Ando, "since you can't dream when you're dead."

"Lovely way of putting it, Ando." Again, Hiro merely sighed.

Then, however...

"Say Hiro..."

"What?"

"L-Look behind you..."

Hiro nodded, and turned around.

"Do you see it, Hiro?" whispered Ando. "The body...?"

Hiro said nothing.

So Ando poked him in the back. "You _do_ see it, don't you...?"

"Y-Yes, I see it..."

Holding their flashlights, Hiro and Ando very, very steadily began to approach the boxes stacked by the wall that were way out of the main luminosity's general range, where there appeared to be... somebody's arm hanging out of one of the scattered boxes... their leg from another. It was still quite dark regarding the location of the boxes in question, but Hiro knew what he was seeing, and so did Ando...

Following several yards worth of steps, Hiro and Ando had reached the various collections of cardboard boxes.

"Do we... open them up...?" inquired Ando in a somewhat shaky voice.

"We have no choice. We must..."

So without another word, the two friends dove in...

Then, a jack-in-the-box of some sort opened up before the boxes could, and its head flew out while some rather creepy music played, which caused both Hiro and Ando to scream bloody murder and fall backwards onto the floor.

Then, Hiro saw the arm he was holding in his hand, while Ando saw the leg he was holding in his.

"**NOW**, HIRO!"

They teleported _out_ of there _very_ quickly.

0.0.0

"Knew I couldn't have any privacy from you for too long."

Standing at the base of the staircase, Sylar looked at Peter, and said, "And you really found it necessary to separate from me in order to hide Angela's will?"

Peter shrugged. "It's not like you cared when I made the suggestion."

"Well at the time I hadn't realized that everyone had chosen to split up again, which I, personally, find to be somewhat of a _very_ bad idea given what happened the last time we all did that," stated Sylar. "I only hope everyone stayed in pairs or groups at the very least, because no one should be roaming around here alone right now, and that includes you."

Peter sighed again. He wasn't going to repeat himself. Instead, he said, "Guess that means you and I have to start searching the damn place too, in that case, but for the record, it's all fine by _me_ if we each do so for ourselves. Separately. Alone."

Okay, so to a certain extent, Peter _had_ repeated himself, he knew.

But then...

Hiro and Ando appeared in the blink of eye, not too far from where Peter and Sylar were standing at the moment. Of course, Peter's and Sylar's attention had been seized instantaneously.

Hiro and Ando were both on the floor near the entrance to the dining room, when Ando suddenly threw whatever he had been holding as far away from himself as he possibly could, before shouting, "Get it away!"

"Ando..." muttered Hiro, who had sounded as if he felt humiliated – again – turned, and sat up, holding the so-called 'arm' in his hand. "Ando, it's fake... from manikin. Not real body part..."

Ando blinked. "Oh... I knew that, _really_, but it was _really_ dark up there, too, remember?"

Peter looked down, and sighed. "I... I'm not even gonna say anything right now..."

Sylar shook his head; expressions unreadable. "Nor am I..." he whispered.

0.0.0

"I didn't find anything out back around here," said Tracy. "Well, unless the poorly-tended to roses count."

"I didn't find anything in the garden, either," said Noah.

"And I didn't find anything on Angela's guest patio," said Claire. "There was... something funny, though..."

Noah asked, "And what's that?"

Claire looked at her father as she recollected. "The chairs."

Tracy seemed confused. "The chairs?"

Claire nodded. "Yeah, one was knocked over, but the strange thing was that the rest of them had been moved over towards the door, like... I don't know..." she said, shrugging. "But I'm no detective, of course, and I hadn't been back there until then, so I guess the layout of everything back there could have already been that way."

"Hmm," Noah uttered, saying nothing for a moment. Until... "I think I'm going to take a look at the porch now. Tracy, Claire... I'm trusting you two to keep an eye on one another."

"Who's going to keep an eye on you, then?" asked Tracy.

Claire smiled sharply. "Do you really need to ask _him_ that?"

When Noah walked away, Tracy realized she hadn't needed to ask; the person 'keeping an eye on Noah' was obviously going to be _himself_.

As for Claire, she was just grateful her dad had willingly allowed her to do something on her own for once, and without any form of lecture or argument about how dangerous the situation still was.

Out of nowhere, Tracy then said, "This is so..."

"Boring?"

"Well, that too, but I was aiming more towards 'ridiculous'," replied Tracy.

"That's completely understandable," Claire said, "and I agree with you, too, but in a different sense, I guess."

"What do you mean?"

"Only that when it comes to every person who's here right now, it seems none of us can ever get enough of this stuff."

Tracy shrugged a shoulder. "I don't mean to sound like I'm criticizing you, after our talk before, but that's an ironic statement to make when you take what you did in Central Park into consideration."

"I shouldn't have to hide who I am for the rest of my life, which as you know may be for the rest of eternity."

Tracy looked down at the pavement, her arms folded as she took a few steps toward the swimming pool. "Have you ever had thoughts about that? I mean, the kind Sylar has?"

"Huh?" Claire began to approach Tracy with a curious look on her face.

The Ice Queen emitted a barely audible sigh. "Noah filled me in on the whole 'nightmare land' thing. Everyone's been talking about it since we got here, and I wanted to understand."

"There's not much to understand." Claire walked closer to the pool, until she was standing at Tracy's side. "The 'nightmare land' was nothing more than Sylar's greatest fear," she insisted.

"I know," said Tracy, "but his fear was his own 'immortality in the end' – literally. He's afraid of spending eternity alone not just in a world that's dead to him, but in a world where he's dead to the world."

Claire's brow furrowed, and she looked up at Tracy. "I hadn't heard anyone put it like that before. Where did you hear that?"

"From Noah."

"Weird..." muttered Claire. "My dad hasn't ever worded it to me quite like that before."

Once again, Tracy shrugged. "He probably didn't want to put the idea into your head if it wasn't there already. I hadn't thought of it until Noah explained the nature of Sylar's nightmare to me, but the idea of living forever... Have you ever had thoughts like Sylar's?"

"No," Claire said, "I haven't. I made peace with who I am a long time ago. Is it going to be hard to watch everyone around me die? Of course. Do I want to be alone? No. Would I want to change who I am to prevent that? Never."

"That's where I envy you, Claire." Tracy raised a hand, watching as its palm turned blue. "Everyone here's got at least a decade over you and you still know yourself better than anyone here knows themselves. I've accepted what I am, just not who I am."

"Well, if you look at it like that, you're already in the wrong," Claire said, "because a person can't ever look at themselves as a 'what' in any way. That's exactly what drove Sylar off the wall, or should I say behind it. I'm not comparing you or anyone else here to him, because even normal people have an identity crisis at _least_ once in their lives. It just doesn't last _forever_."

"You think he did it?"

"Hmm?"

"You know, do you think Sylar murdered Angela?"

Claire stared at the water. "I don't know. I gotta admit... if he did do it, he's doing one hell of a job acting like he didn't."

"Neh, I think it's just another performance by a very _gifted_ actor."

"Point."

"I hesitate to tell you my real thoughts, though..."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Claire.

"It's not important," replied Tracy, shrugging it off.

Claire smirked. "Oh, I see. You think it was Peter... don't you?"

"What I think shouldn't be important to you."

"Well it is, so spill."

Tracy looked down at Claire, and noted the younger woman was actually smiling for some reason.

Tracy stared down at the pavement again momentarily, before she looked straight ahead, and said, "Alright. I admit... Peter is my best guess. Sylar may be a very gifted actor, but Peter is not – not when it comes to acting, at least. The guy's a mess, and it's obvious. He looked like he was ready to drop at the dining table, then he'd be on fire again, then crashing again, and, I don't know... either he's on steroids, or he gets a massive adrenaline rush every time Sylar's around..."

"Ah, lovely..." muttered Claire, folding her arms while nodding her head. "I see you've bought into 'that' idea, too."

"What idea?"

"The idea that they 'like' each other, duh."

"Um... I didn't—"

"Relax," said Claire, throwing in a random chuckle. "Everyone here's at least thought about it. Before Angela was... killed, pretty much everyone paled in the face every time Peter walked into the same room as them because they were thinking about that stuff."

"Huh," uttered Tracy. "Okay, then let me ask you something... though everyone here's been talking about 'nightmare land' on and off, the story's always been from Sylar's point of view... so... what's Peter's?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "I admit I asked him about it. Once. He _doesn't_ like talking about it _or_ Sylar, but he'll bring them up in some way without even meaning to. Books. The sky. Tools. Water bottles. Clocks and watches. Walls. NYC." She sighed. "It doesn't matter what he does or where he is, it all reminds him of Sylar now, so he thinks that if he spends all his time working, that he won't have to think about Sylar. _That's_ why he's so tired – he never _stops_ working."

"Wow... and he told you all that?" inquired Tracy.

Claire nodded. "Yep, he did."

Tracy chortled silently. "Well, I must say, for a girl who had her head cut open by Sylar, you sure seem unbothered by the notion of your uncle and Sylar being on the same page of any book."

"Oh it bothers me," remarked Claire. "It bothers me a lot, but Peter's trying to understand why I did what I did, so I have to try to do the same for him. I know I took an insane chance because I didn't want to be afraid anymore about hiding my identity. I was tired of all the hiding, and of running away from that problem, of my fear, because it was making me miserable." Claire looked up at Tracy once again, saying, "I don't know. Maybe Peter still doesn't want to forgive Sylar for killing Nathan, but he still _needs_ to, and if he doesn't... well, he'll stay miserable, so I say, hell... let him have what he needs so he can move on in life, _and_ move on from Sylar."

"So that's what you think?" Tracy asked, "That Peter just needs to forgive Sylar, and then, he'll forget about him?"

"Sylar's hard to forget, but yeah, pretty much."

"And don't tell me you think Sylar will forget about Peter if Peter ever _does_ forgive him?"

"Nope," Claire said, "I don't. Sylar has some weird admiration crush on my uncle because Peter saved Sylar so Peter's his hero now, which I sort of can relate to when I think back to it, but that doesn't make Sylar's... fixations or whatever any less weird. He's still fucking insane, after all." Claire noted that Tracy was looking at her oddly, and added, "Anyway, my point is that just because Sylar's still insane, that doesn't make Peter insane, much less psychotic, or a murderer, so there's no _way_ he could have killed his own mother."

"Check."

"What?"

"You've sold me, I guess," said Tracy, as the drizzle began falling from the sky. "You're pretty persuasive, just like Noah is, and just like Nathan was. But, well, I know how that works, given my line of work. If a person can't base decisions about another person on what they know about them, they'll usually base them on what they _hear_ about them... In our case... everyone here knows Sylar's a sociopathic killer, but they've all _heard_ different stories tonight about every single one of us here..."

"Great, that makes me wonder what they're all saying about me right now."

"I've wondered what sort hearsay and theories have been discussed involving me, too, but right now, I'm wondering more about what the heck's taking Noah so long..."

Claire looked down, and grinned. "My dad can take care of himself."

"Let's hope so, or someone else might..."

"What do you mean by that?"

"What Noah said about the Haitian..." Tracy thought back to prior events. "It makes sense to me. I really can't remember how I ended up out front earlier looking for my watch, but then, I thought back to what had happened before that... when I was playing pool with Noah in the billiard room, my watch was already gone, so then, I thought back to what came before that, and realized I'd been in the lounge... with Peter," she said. "I'd been in the billiard room before that, and then... I don't know, I opened my eyes, and suddenly, I was sitting in the lounge on one of the couches."

Claire nodded once more. "I see, so you're back to suspecting Peter that quickly?"

The wind picked up, and Tracy felt as it blew back through her long, blond hair. She shivered a little, and said, "Not exactly. The first thing I can remember about being in there is seeing Peter sitting in an armchair, asleep. I didn't try to wake him... I just shrugged my shoulders, stood up, and left."

"Why didn't you mention this before?"

"Didn't seem important, I guess," replied Tracy. "Not at the time, at least, but after what Noah suggested about the Haitian when he was talking to all of us... Maybe the Haitian went nuts, killed Angela, and now, he's having some fun with the rest of us... watching us scurry around like mice while the clock winds down."

Brow furrowing, Claire commented, "That doesn't sound like something René would do."

"Maybe you don't know 'René' as well as you think..."

Claire smirked silently, while Tracy turned and began walking in the direction of the backdoor.

Then, Claire asked, "Where are you going now?"

"To sit down in one of the yard chairs before these heels kill me, and I think it's going to start raining again soon, anyway."

Claire exhaled a breathy sigh, and followed Tracy once again to the back porch where a table and four matching chairs were located. Tracy sat down in one of the chairs, removing her black heels, before Claire sat down across from Tracy.

Quietly, Claire said, "I wonder what the others are up to..."

Tracy shrugged, resting one elbow on the tabletop. "I don't know, I've been awake since five o' clock yesterday morning, and I'm about ready to drop just like Peter." She looked down at her watch, but as it had lost time after having been soaked in the rain, it was a lost cause. Also, she had left her cell-phone in her purse, and she had left her purse in the lounge.

Noting the way Tracy was stressing over the topic that was time, Claire looked down at the watch on her own wrist, and said, "It's nearly a quarter till' one."

"Great..." sighed Tracy. "If I lived here, I'd be home."

Claire rolled her eyes, and chortled a little. "You and me both."

"But as for what you said before, I can only imagine what the others are up to," stated Tracy. She removed a single, white rose from the vase centered on the table, and twiddled its stem between fingers, saying, "I'm sure Hiro and Ando are having some in-depth talk about how they're going to save everyone, that Matt and Mohinder are probably goofing-around again or even getting drunk in the cellar, that Peter and Sylar are bickering about everything possible, and that Noah either found something very interesting or someone found him."

"I'm sure my dad's fine," said Claire, sticking with her apparent assumption regarding Noah's postponed absence. "Hopefully he found something I didn't."

"He did." This hadn't been Claire's voice.

Tracy jumped in place, the rose in her hand freezing over. She turned her head to the right, and sighed. "Noah... there you are. What took you so long?"

"Nothing all that important, really," Noah replied. "I was examining the porch on the east side of the mansion, and sure enough, Claire was right."

"Right about what?" Tracy asked.

"The chairs," said Noah, his serious expression unfaltering. "Five of them had been moved away from the table, in the opposing direction from the ledge."

"What does that mean, Dad?" questioned Claire.

"Well, it wouldn't mean anything at all..." Noah said, "Weren't it for the skid marks... which indicates the chairs were moved _after_ it started raining."

Tracy's brow furrowed. "But isn't it just as likely that someone moved the chairs away from the ledge because they didn't want a bunch of cushioned chairs to get wet?"

Noah nodded. "Quite possibly, but then again, why would whoever moved the chairs leave one of them by the ledge?"

Tracy forced a laugh. "This makes no sense. At all. I really don't see how a bunch of patio chairs have to do with Angela's death in any way whatsoever."

"Yeah, me either, I guess..." whispered Claire, while she looked away from her father.

"With that out of the way, and now that we've searched pretty much every place possible out here, I vote we head back inside," stated Noah.

Tracy sighed again, while she put her black heels back on. "I should have known that resting for too long was out of the question."

"You can rest for too long when you're dead," said Noah, which won him another reactive smirk from Tracy.

After Tracy and Claire had stood, they once again began following the Company Man. Both Tracy, and Claire, however, were wondering why Noah hadn't chosen to re-enter the Petrelli Mansion through the backdoor. Instead, Noah was heading towards the west side of the mansion.

Tracy rolled her eyes once more. "_Now_ where are we going, Noah?"

"Through the cellar doors."

"Uh, why?" asked Tracy.

"Because no one inside will be expecting us to enter through there," Noah said, "and because there's something else I'd like to take a look at."

Tracy looked down at Claire, and whispered, "How do you put up with this?"

From several yards ahead of the two women, Noah stated, "I still heard that, Tracy."

Claire shrugged, figuring that in their screwed-up situation, Tracy had all the right in the world to keep complaining if that's what she wanted. As the trio made their ways around the corner of the mansion, Noah suddenly halted his steps, and looked up.

"Dad, what is it?" asked Claire.

Noah stared upwards briefly, seemingly in a state of deep, mental contemplation.

"Nothing," Noah however replied, before he continued forth. For long, the Company Man and the two specials had reached the outer entrance to the cellar.

With the flashlight he had removed from his pocket, Noah aimed downwards, casting light upon the outside doors to the cellar.

"Something's... not right here..." he said.

"Why do you say that?" inquired Tracy, before she took a closer look at the cellar doors for herself. "Because there's no lock?"

"Exactly," Noah said, "I knew Angela well enough to know she would have taken every step possible to prohibit any form of intrusion into her home, especially during the time when she wasn't residing here."

After giving his opinion, Noah bent down, and opened the set of cellar doors.

"Great..." muttered Tracy, "I can't wait to go down in there..."

"Very good, in that case." Noah took his flashlight, and headed down into the rather dark cellar, taking step by step down the short flight of cement stairs.

Claire followed closely behind Noah, and Tracy stood still temporarily and exhaled another long sigh; wishing once again that she had worn shoes _without_ heels. Then, she too began following Noah and Claire down the stairs.

Claire and Tracy turned on their flashlights again, before Noah commented, "Much better."

Upon reaching the base of the stairs, Noah continued to take the lead. He stood fully, and used his flashlight to look around from place to place. Claire and Tracy joined Noah, standing on opposing sides of him.

"Mohinder?" Noah called out, "Matt? Are you guys still down here?"

Claire followed the light with her eyes, seeing nothing and no one. "Maybe they already finished searching the cellar and went back up to the ground level? Why don't we try up there?"

"Makes enough sense to me," said Tracy.

"Ssh." Noah halted his footing, and paused in place. "I _swear_ I just heard something..."

Noah took a few paces forwards, with his daughter and Tracy close behind. For some reason, Noah seemed he felt the situation to be dangerous, so on impulse, he removed his gun from his interior coat pocket.

"You could light a bonfire with all the boozes down here," whispered Tracy, though she had failed to amuse Noah or Claire with her choice of words. She hadn't really been trying to accomplish the task of humoring anyone, however.

Noah continued to walk forwards, until he flashed the light over to the right.

"Oh no..."

"What?" Claire asked, "What is it, Dad?"

Noah ran over to what he had at least thought he had seen, and sure enough, he had seen correctly.

For there, behind the aisle of imported red wines, was Matt Parkman... on his back, either _very_ dead, or _very_ out of it. One could only hope for the latter.

Upon reaching Parkman's motionless form, Noah touched a set of fingers to the detective's neck, and checked for a pulse. "He's alive. Hey, Parkman? Parkman! Wake up!"

After having been shaken enough, Matt's brown eyes cracked open to a degree, and he soon saw Noah Bennet at his side.

"Wha... What the hell happened?" Matt asked, right before he began to sit up to the best of his ability.

"Matt, what exactly do you remember? Do you know where you are? Was someone else down here? Did you see who it was? Did you see—"

"Slow _down_, Noah..." complained the seated man, as he forced himself to sit up further still. "It seems like I'm back in the cellar. I know Mohinder was with me earlier... Sure, we came down here to get the brandy. I... think..."

Claire covered her mouth, appearing as if she had a very bad feeling about this.

"Matt," said Noah, as he helped Parkman into a standing position, "Do you remember the murder?"

Matt seemed as if he were caught somewhere between amusement, and shock. "Murder? I don't know _what_ you are talking about, Noah."

Noah groaned. "He _is_ here..."

"Who?" asked Matt.

"The Haitian, I'm guessing..."

Upon hearing the foreign voice, four sets of heads turned to take into view the unexpected but very believable display of Mohinder Suresh stumbling his way out from the cellar's far, left-hand side; out from behind the aisle where Angela had chosen to keep her collection of chardonnays and assorted white wines.

"What happened to you?" Tracy asked while she looked at Mohinder.

Mohinder sighed. "I wish I knew, and that's the problem. That said, will someone _please_ tell Mrs. Petrelli that I have had quite enough of her games for one night?"

Noah took Claire's hand, and said, "Let's get back upstairs. All of us, _now_. I have a very, _very_ bad feeling about this."

"You're not alone..." muttered Tracy.

0.0.0

The doorbell.

Peter carped to himself. "Great... Ugh, just great..."

"I'll get it, Peter," said Sylar.

"No, wait! Maybe it is best that no one answer the door." Hiro had seemed persistent when he had said this, but the others didn't exactly find the means behind his words anything close to inexplicable. It didn't matter who was at the door; they weren't wanted.

Feeling as if he actually might drop dead, Peter pushed his dark bangs out of his eyes on one side, and said, "Hiro... do you have any idea what happens when you order over one-hundred dollars worth of pizzas and then refuse to answer the door and pay up?"

Hiro looked to Ando for a possible answer, but Ando only shrugged. They had never ordered over one-hundred dollars worth of pizzas in the United States before; not that they had in any other country, either. Hiro supposed one could call the pizza place and politely explain that the order had been accidental, though somehow, he knew that was an overly optimistic way of looking at things.

So, Hiro looked at Peter once again, and replied, "No, I do not."

"Well, I know," stated Sylar as he walked towards the door. "You get the police called on you, and honestly, I don't think we need any officers showing up here right now. Do you?"

Hiro and Ando shook their heads.

"Good," Sylar said, "so I suggest we all get out our wallets and make this problem disappear so we don't invite _yet_ another one inside."

"I don't have that kind of cash on me." Peter had sounded ill-at-ease, but he had quickly realized just how stupid a serious situation was starting to seem. Still... what Sylar had said... '_yet_' another one?

Choosing not to speculate about his thoughts concerning Sylar's previous phrasing of words, Peter only continued to complain some more on the contrary. "And if I were to put this more than likely huge bill on a credit card, I very _well_ may have the police after me by daybreak."

"We need Parkman," muttered Sylar, the name sour on his tongue. "Hurry up, someone go down to the cellar where he probably is again and fetch him so he can take care of yet another problem _he_ caused."

Then, like clockwork, none other than Matt Parkman himself entered the dining room, followed by Mohinder Suresh, Noah Bennet, Claire Bennet, and Tracy Strauss.

"Matt, Mohinder," Ando said, "Hurry, we need you to take care of the pizza you two ordered earlier!"

Mohinder and Matt looked at one another, both appearing very, _very_ confused...

"What is the problem?" asked Hiro.

Matt then looked forwards, and said, "There is no way that much pizza could have arrived here in less than fifteen minutes on a Friday night. I would know."

Mohinder sighed. "Matt, don't forget... we... sort of had our memories erased... again..." After saying this, Mohinder emitted yet another sigh of exasperation.

The doorbell rang for the fifth consecutive time.

Sylar rolled his eyes, and said, "For the love of..." Still, everyone was at least mildly to moderately shocked when Sylar opened the front door of the Petrelli Mansion to reveal the soaking wet pizza delivery boy standing behind the grille door.

Sylar groaned to himself as he opened the outer door, and told the teenager to come in.

"Okay, got your pizzas, all eleven," the teenage boy said in a rather unenthusiastic tone of voice. "I also have your chicken wings, the dipping sauces, the twelve liters of Mountain Dew, _and_ the case of Red Bull, even. That comes to a total of $286.78, _plus_ tip."

Sylar nodded, and removed his own wallet, handing the kid three-hundred dollars. That was a pretty lousy tip, everyone figured, but still... where had Sylar gotten all that money?

"Here you go," said Sylar, "so now you _can_ go. But first... Parkman, we would all appreciate it very, very much if you made sure our delivery boy here didn't say anything 'funny' back at whatever parlor you rung him from."

"It was Dominos," said Ando. "It's on all the sacks _and_ all the boxes."

Sylar appeared almost, almost ready to kill. "I _know_ that, Ando..." he muttered.

Noah whispered something into Matt's ear before Matt silently complained a little, though he seemed ready to comply nonetheless. With that out of the way, Matt began to approach the pizza delivery boy while rolling his eyes and shaking his head side-to-side.

The teenager took a step back. "Are you guys... like, on drugs or something...?"

Peter then thought he might faint when all eleven of the pizza boxes began _floating_ in _midair_.

"Yeah, we're definitely all _on_ something here..." said Sylar, before he continued, stating, "Well, all but one of us, as he is technically one of them. Trust me, though – _this_ way beats actually carrying a huge stack of pizza boxes with your hands, kid."

Before the delivery boy had the chance to freak the heck out, Matt used his telepathic abilities to convince the boy he hadn't seen anyone or anything so much as remotely suspicious at the drop-off, _and_ that he should hurry back to work as quickly as possible before his girlfriend thought he was making the 'other' house calls to their mutual friend Julie's home again...

Without word, the young delivery boy turned, and practically _dashed_ out the doorway and back into the rain.

"...I was under the impression that this night couldn't get any more _ridiculous_ than it was to begin with, but now, I see I was wrong once _again_..." said Peter, who was sitting on the stair steps by this point.

"Agreed," said Tracy, before she turned, and began walking her way back into the dining room and toward the table where Claire and a couple of the others were already seated.

Through telekinesis, Sylar shut and locked both sets of doors back into proper place, before he turned in order to gain Peter's attention. "I _could_ use a little help here, Peter."

Peter nodded. "Yeah, guess you could." He held out his right arm, gathered a pizza box through the use of his mind's temporary power, and brought the encased pizza over Sylar's head; flipping the lid open and the box over...

Hiro and Ando chose to walk away, before Matt covered his mouth to keep from laughing as he then walked away as well. Peter just... sat there, remaining visibly nonchalant.

Sylar was very, very irritated. "Peter... what the _hell_ was the point of that?"

Peter stood, walked down the several remaining stair steps to the base, and said, "You wanted a little help, I gave it to you. I don't see the problem."

"...You don't see a _problem_ with the fact that you dropped a _pizza_ onto my _head?"_

"Well, I guess I can see your 'point'," replied Peter. "After all, you did the heroic thing and paid for the pizzas all on your own, and after that tip, you just lost an additional fourteen dollars or so. Excuse me for not caring."

"Peter..." Sylar grumbled. He seriously wanted to use a more powerful comeback, in the more literal sense of actually _using_ powers against Peter, but he ultimately chose to do nothing... "Fine, Peter... if acting out like this makes you feel like you have more control over the situation we are all currently in, that's fine. I'm going to the nearest restroom to wash up, while you stay here so you can clean up your _own_ mess for a change. ...By the way, that happened to be your plain cheese."

As Sylar made his exit, Peter could only sigh to himself again. What Peter had done just now _had_ been extremely immature, he knew, but he did not care. Be it getting thrown through the glass of a seventh story window to breaking down walls to carrying pizzas, Peter was _done_ helping Sylar in any way whatsoever, as far as he was concerned...

Peter did, however, opt to clean up the partial mess he had made in the hall; not because Sylar had insisted for him to do so, but because not to do so seemed disrespectful to his mother...

After Peter had finished the task up, he went back into the dining room, where everyone was once again seated just as they had all been in the beginning of this 'scacchic game' of Angela's, minus Claire, who hadn't arrived early enough for that part of the game. Upon reaching the table, Peter took a seat in the same chair he had been seated in at the start. Funnily enough... everyone was in their original seats, though there were several notable absences. Angela wasn't there for obvious reasons... Sylar was gone, probably still in the nearest bathroom, and while Noah had never sat at the table, either, he was also gone... to where, no one knew.

"Alright," began Peter, whose discontent was showing, "What did I miss this time?"

"Matt and Mohinder had a little run in with René," said Tracy.

Peter's mouth opened. "What...?"

"I _seriously_ do not remember seeing him, though," Matt urged.

Mohinder sighed. "He's gotten me with his memory manipulation before, too, Matt. What I want to know is why you and I were singled out specifically." He turned his attention to Peter. "According to what Matt and I have been filled-in on, however, Angela Petrelli has been murdered and nobody has any idea who killed her."

Looking perplexed, Peter asked, "Who here _has_ had their memories messed with tonight?"

Everyone at the table looked around at one another, saying nothing.

"Well..." said Matt, "as far as I know, it hasn't happened to anyone else here apart from me and Mohinder."

"Wait a minute..." Claire said, "There was that part I can't seem to recall from Nathan's room, around the time Angela was murdered, and Tracy seems to be missing memories from when she was outside looking for her watch... What if... What if we've _all_ been gotten to? You know, and we just _can't_ remember?"

"What do you mean, Claire?" asked Ando.

"Think about it," stated Claire, as all eyes fell on her. "If René only erased a few _minutes_ or so worth of our memories, we'd barely notice, right? If Tracy was right... and he's been in the house all this time... then I'm sure _all of us_ have had our memories manipulated at _least_ once, and we just... don't know it."

Everyone's attention was caught once again, only not by Claire, but rather the sound of Noah's shoes thumping down the stairs.

"I was right..."

Claire looked up, and asked, "Right about what, Dad?"

"When we were outside..." Noah stated in calm voice, "I noticed one of the windows to Angela's upstairs study was cracked open halfway..."

"So?" asked Claire, "What about it?" She paused, and thought. "Wait. You don't mean you think... no."

Matt sighed again. "Sorry, still totally lost here..."

Peter didn't seem to get it, either, that is, until Claire looked straight at him...

That's when it hit Peter like a _very_ unpleasant slap across the face.

"Wait..." Peter muttered. "Just wait a second here. Are you... are you _seriously_ trying to imply that you think_ I_ flew up into my mother's office to _kill_ her, before I then flew back down to the downstairs porch?"

Noah shrugged. "I hate to say it, but it does make sense, Peter... After all, someone wanted over that ledge, or at least wanted it to _look_ that way, and someone who can fly wouldn't need a chair to aid them over the ledge," he said. "Also, rain was always a quick way to wash the blood off one's hands, and you _were_ partially wet upon your reentry from outside."

"This.. is.. insane.." Peter leered, "I did _not_ murder my mother, damnit!"

Claire looked back to her father. "Well... there is one other person in this household who can fly, whenever they want to... I mean, how do we know all those sunroom windows were locked, right?"

"Fuck..." Peter cursed once again, instantly standing up. "I _am_ going to make him _pay_ this time, and _none_ of you are going to get in my way!"

Mohinder nodded. "Trust me, Peter... we won't. Not after what he's done this time, especially. I'm sure most of us won't mind helping you."

Hiro nodded as well. "Yes, Peter. We were all ready to help you before, but I think Mohinder has forgotten that part."

Peter pulled back his chair, and stood, marching forth to the nearest downstairs bathroom while complaining to himself the whole time, although loudly enough so that _everyone_ could hear him complaining.

"Damnit, all this time... all this fucking time, and he managed to fool me, for _that_ long, _again_... Well _never_ again. Never. And to make it worse, he was trying to _set me up!_ Fuck! _Why_ couldn't I have seen it sooner?"

After hearing Peter's prior curses which had become more frequent as the night had progressed, everyone appeared to be within perfect agreement regarding every articulation the paramedic had made.

Upon reaching the closed door to the bathroom Peter knew Sylar just _had_ to be in, he banged on it several times, cursing a few several times in unison.

No answer.

"Sylar!" Peter yelled again, followed by a few more fisted bangs against the locked door. Having had more than enough of this hellish night, Peter stepped back, and telekinetically forced the door open.

However...

...No one saw _exactly_ what they had expected to see.

0.0.0

**A/N:** Assuming I don't fall ill again, I should get the final part to this up very soon. :3 It's much shorter compared to the other chapters/acts.

Please review if something nice can be said, and thanks again for reading! :)


	4. Act IV: You Get the World

**A/N: **This is definitely the final part, and it is shorter compared to the other Acts. I definitely did _not_ intend to wait this long to upload the final chapter, especially as it has been finished for so long, but I was sick again for awhile and then really busy for a while, lol.

Since writing this, I've realized I need to go back and correct some grammar, mainly in the last chapter, but I'll try to get around to that later... I didn't need any more excuses to stall myself on getting the last part to this up.

Well, hope anyone who reads this will enjoy, and much thanks to all of you who have followed the fic this far!

**You Might Die Trying**  
ACT IV_  
You Get the World_

As everyone stared, they almost couldn't believe what they were seeing – _almost_ couldn't believe, that is.

No, they had all seen too much over the years, and especially on this particular night, to find anything about it unbelievable anymore.

Sylar _was_ definitely where Peter had thought he would be, but he was also _definitely_ on the floor, and _definitely_ unconscious. There was blood splattered against the edge of the rounded bathtub, which painted a nice mental picture for the others of what had probably happened to Sylar in there.

Tracy swallowed. "Is he... dead?"

"I somehow _highly_ doubt that, Tracy," Noah said, as he thought to himself, 'Don't I wish?'

Having already made his way to Sylar's side, Peter knelt down on the tiled floor next to him, checking his vitals. "He should be fine..." Peter sighed, successfully masking whatever sense of relief he may or may not have been experiencing with his anger. "I just don't understand why the back of his head isn't healing any faster than this... Or, I mean, well, why it didn't heal up _already_."

"Well I do," Noah said, "and I have a feeling it won't be long now before this mystery of ours comes to a close."

Claire looked up at him. "Dad... you know who did it, don't you? Who murdered Angela, I mean. It _was_ Sylar, wasn't it?"

"All in due timing, Claire," Noah replied, placing a single hand on his daughter's shoulder and leading her out of the path to the restroom Peter and Sylar were still located in.

At this point, Peter made eye-contact with Mohinder. "Do you think you could...?"

Mohinder sighed, shoulders slumping a little. "Sure, Peter, I guess..." It would figure that Peter would want _him_ of all people to help him carry Sylar out of there, probably even if he hadn't bore his ability of enhanced strength, considering his luck.

He reached Peter, and was about to kneel down to lend a hand, when Peter reached up and touched him on the outer arm first.

"Thanks," Peter said, casually. "That's all I needed."

"...Oh," Mohinder muttered, before he turned, and left the bathroom.

0.0.0

"Well, I must say... I am certainly starting to feel _right_ at home here."

"That wasn't funny, Tracy." Matt huffed.

His eyes on Matt, Noah said, "She has a point, in a way, as once again we all are back in the lounge of all places." As everyone stared at him with mixed expressions, he added, "But at least no one ever seems to run into any trouble in this particular part of the mansion."

"So where's Mohinder, anyway?" Matt asked, noting the empty spot on the couch next to him. "Is he _actually_ helping Peter with Sylar?"

"I just had bad thought," Hiro muttered.

From Hiro's right-hand side, Ando asked, "What bad thought?"

"Well... about Peter and Sylar..."

"No." Matt shook his head. "Don't even go there, Hiro. Please."

Hiro looked at Matt flatly. "I didn't mean anything like... that. It's about the Haitian's power. Peter and Sylar can both copy abilities, and Sylar can also kill to steal them."

For the most part, everyone within the room appeared somewhat surprised.

"I had thought of that before, sadly," Noah replied, shrugging one of his shoulders. "After all, I haven't seen René for a little while now, and for all I know, Sylar could have found a way to empathetically or intuitively copy his ability, or, on the contrary, killed him for it," he said suggestively. "In Peter's case, while he has just been seen using Sylar's telekinesis, we don't know he isn't working with René and hence could have been replicating his ability on and off throughout the entire duration of the night, or, if Sylar indeed has it, Peter very well could have taken it from him... Also, there are people out there like Eli, and Peter or Sylar could have cloned themselves and been in multiple places at once, or found Claude to use his invisibility." He shook his head, eliciting a deep breath. "When it comes to those two and powers, the possibilities are just... _too_ endless..."

"Why didn't you mention anything like this _before_?" Tracy asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "You _swore_ before that you thought René was here. You never once suggested any of that other stuff to us."

"I _did_ suggest the possibility of people using one another as _alibis_, though," Noah said, aiming to remind not only Tracy of his words, but everyone else present within the large den as well. "And, as Angela would always put it, things _aren't_ always what they _appear_ to be... and there is always a most _suitable_ time for everything..." A small, but barely noticeable smile graced his facial features.

Before everyone could proceed with the topic at bay, however, Peter suddenly paced into the lounge rather quickly, holding Sylar in his arms; more in the old-fashioned way, with one arm under the back of his knees and the other under the small of his back. One would think Peter would have chosen to sling Sylar back over his shoulder, at least, but then again... well, perhaps the sight in itself really wasn't all _that_ surprising to anyone, especially on _this_ night.

So, everyone just sort of... stared.

Peter rolled his eyes, and then, threw Sylar's form across the room, and even from such a distance, Sylar still managed to land _perfectly_ in the armchair Peter had aimed for due to his current agility; even if said armchair had nearly toppled over while every other piece of furniture against the wall shook due to the strength Peter also currently bore for the time being.

Ando threw his arms up into the air. "And Sylar's in, Peter scores!"

...And this statement didn't win _anything_ at _all_ for Ando.

Ando froze, straightening up and placing his hands neatly in his lap when he realized he was receiving a number of _very_ odd stares. "What? What did I say...?"

No one bothered to say _anything_.

"...Okay then, moving along once more..." Noah had once again decided to take on his role as the designated 'spokesperson' for the group. "René, or someone with his ability, is without a doubt here. I also have no doubt in my mind that if René is here, he is working with someone amongst us... He would _never_ go through all this trouble to do away with Angela for himself, even if he did always disagree with the majority of her methods. If someone else present among us has his ability, I would also have no doubt in my mind that we _still_ have alibis among us as well, somehow," he said, appearing to contemplate a little more on the issue. "Well, unless it's you-know-who again, then he could definitely be working solo. Just... ugh, if we only had more _evidence_..."

Peter smirked, shooting Noah a rather rude glance. "Is that what all of you were talking about while I was away?" he asked, more in the form of a statement than a question. "You seem to know an _awful_ lot about what's going on here, don't you, Noah... Seems to me like something could be up with that..."

Noah returned Peter's smirk. "And it seems to me like you keep changing your opinions so rapidly that _no one_ here can keep track of what you _seem_ to think you believe from one moment to the next, and you tend to treat abilities the same way."

Just then, Mohinder re-entered the lounge in the nick of time, or Noah and Peter probably would have engaged in a more than heated argument of the sorts. Mohinder was holding a set of cold Red Bulls, which had previously been delivered by the teenage pizza boy.

He tossed one across the room to Peter – knowing he would have no problem catching it at the moment – and then, Mohinder sat down next to Matt. "Did I miss anything interesting _this_ time?"

Noah shook his head, but not so much as an answer to Mohinder's question. "Perhaps, but smart as I know you are, you should know better than to be wondering around this place by yourself again unless you want to awaken with the memories of a five year old child next time."

Hiro nodded. "He has a very good point, _believe_ me..."

Ando nodded right along with his best-friend. "_Definitely_."

Peter opened his energy drink, which didn't surprise a single person present, though everyone was a bit surprised when Mohinder opened his; although the idea that he was was becoming just as exhausted as everyone else was very believable, considering the mess they were all _still_ in _and_ how long they had been awake now.

Noah rolled his dark eyes, and continued once again. "Anyhow, the point _I_ was getting to is that I have undoubtedly come to the conclusion that either René is here and was working with Angela in the beginning but later turned on her in order to begin working with someone else here... someone whose methods he _could_ agree with, maybe," he said, appearing to speculate still more. "_Or_, that someone else here _has_ his ability... Still, how _could_ Sylar manage to knock _himself_ out?"

"Maybe he did it intentionally to throw us off," Tracy suggested.

Knowing she was being too quiet, Claire chose to speak just for the sake of speaking. "So what do we do now? Just go around the room and cast votes?" she asked, her vocal manner having been relatively sarcastic.

Tracy shrugged. "Why not, if that would get us all out of here any faster?"

"I think that would be a very bad idea," Ando said, "because if we went around the room pointing fingers at one another, we might be _at_ one another's throats in only a few seconds."

"I _do_ agree with that," Matt said.

Claire sighed, leaning back in her armchair. "I wasn't _really_ serious about what I said. I'm just... getting _really_ tired of all this, and I'm... starting to think Dad may have been right earlier... If we really _can't_ figure this out, we may have no choice but to leave..."

"Agreed," Tracy said, dragging a hand back through her hair, "since even as nice as this mansion is, I never planned on moving here any time soon."

"Sexy," Ando whispered to himself. His voice had been inaudible to everyone, with the exception of Hiro, and once again, Hiro had nothing to say... not about that, at least.

Noah sighed, pacing a bit more. "I suppose Claire's right, and as sardonic as Tracy's words were, I am in _full_ agreement with what she said."

"So... what do we do now?" Ando asked him. "Make a plan on how we're all going to find a way to pretend we were never here?"

This time, Mohinder sighed. "Trust me," he said to Ando, before Noah could answer him. "Unless it's a _really_ good plan, merely pretending 'we were never here' will _not_ enable us to elude the law, _much_ less the government."

"Point," Matt said, who was in complete concurrence with Mohinder. Matt worked for the law enforcement department, after all, and he knew once they wanted a person caught, they didn't let up until they had them in custody.

Ignoring what the others had to say for the time being about the reinitiated proposal, Peter ambled his way to Sylar, and lightly, began shaking the unconscious man by the shoulders. When this did nothing to alert him, Peter lightly slapped him on the face a few times, and when that didn't work, he slapped Sylar directly _across_ the face with enough force to turn his cheek bright red.

"Ssh," Peter whispered somewhat loudly, hushing everyone; despite the fact that he had already gathered everyone's attention prior when he had whapped Sylar across the face with his current ability of enhanced strength. "Sylar's finally starting to come to."

Placing a hand on Sylar's shoulder, Peter shook the now partially conscious man once again. "Sylar... _Sylar_, can you hear me?"

Sylar's brown eyes began to crack open. "P-Peter...?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, it's me. Now tell me... _what_ do you remember?"

Sylar opened his eyes fully, and then, looked around to examine his current surroundings. "...What in the _hell_ am I doing _here_, Peter? With you...? With all of you? W-What's going on...?"

Peter wanted to slap _himself_ upside the face this time. "Sylar... I promise you this is _not_ another nightmare... this is _very_ real – you've just had some of your memories erased," he said calmly. "We've been through this before. Both of us. You can regenerate, which includes the cells in your brain. Just... concentrate, hard, and it _will_ all come back to you."

Appearing rather dazed and disoriented, Sylar touched a hand to the upper, left-hand side of his head, feeling the blood, before he then closed his eyes and tried his best to remember. He knew Peter had been right... He did have the ability to recover stolen memories, or to put it in a better way, to recover memories that had been stolen from him. As he concentrated hard and harder still, one by one, the memories began to come back... first in the form of random puzzle pieces, but for long, the big picture had fully come back together...

And this time, the pieces missing from the big picture's general puzzle _before_ had been added _now_.

Sylar opened his eyes once again, and for some reason or another, appeared rather... shocked?

"Well?" Peter asked, seeming slightly concerned. "Do you... remember?"

Almost unconsciously, Sylar reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small piece of black cloth. "I'm... I'm not the only one who _does, _Peter..."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

Tracy looked at Noah again. "What were you saying earlier?"

"I think I'd actually like to know what Sylar has to say for once," Noah said under his breath.

Sylar reached up and gripped Peter's shoulders, tightly. "Peter, we _have_ to leave."

Peter didn't fight Sylar's grasp on him, but he _did_ want to know what was provoking such a sense of desperation in the other man. "Sylar... what _are_ you talking about?"

"P-Peter, I... I _can't_. Please, just... let's go, _now_."

Peter's mouth fell open. "You... you know, don't you? You know the _truth_..."

Sylar looked away. "And I'm not the only one who does..."

...That was when, amidst everything, Peter noticed the torn piece of dark cloth in Sylar's lap.

The torn piece of dark and _blood-stained_ cloth in Sylar's lap.

Peter picked it up. "Sylar... why was _this_ in your pocket, and _where_ did you get it from?"

"It's nothing, Peter..."

Peter frowned. "Well if you won't tell me," he said, one hand gripping the cloth while his other gripped Sylar's shoulder, "I'll just have to find out for myself... Like you said, you never could hide anything from _me_."

Through his thought on Sylar's shoulder, Peter replicated yet another ability from the most powerful of them all. He then stood fully; closing his eyes while he concentrated... images beginning to flash throughout his mind like an active film reel as he tightened his clasp upon the piece of torn clothing.

Among many images he saw in his head was an image of Sylar, walking down the hall _with_ the piece of torn cloth after having come from the study Angela had been murdered in, before Sylar sighed remorsefully, and tucked the stained, black fabric into the pocket of his likewise black pants.

"_I just want to believe you will forgive me, even though I know you never will," Sylar whispered, heading down the hall in order to rejoin Peter in the master bedroom._

And then...

"_What's a single person's death, anyway? If their death improves the future, I suppose they __**have**__ to die, right?"_

...as Peter read still more history, and saw still more images within his head, he could **not** _believe_ he hadn't put two and two together earlier in the night... The more he saw, the more he began to recall...

"_Of course. That's exactly what I am going to do. Sit down with my best-friend, the betrayer and her son, and have a glass of fine wine. It's not as if I had wanted to go to the airport on this particular night."_

"_I say we end him once and for all. Let me rip his very head off, and then Tracy, you can freeze it. Then Peter can set fire to the rest of him and we'll all know it's actually __**his**__ corpse burning this time around."_

"_What was he thinking?"_

"_I couldn't get anything except for 'They're __**here**__' and 'You __**can't**__ do it, Peter'..."_

"_I was actually in the __**kitchen**__, asshole. If you don't believe me, you can ask Mohinder. He had me sampling more God-awful tea than I could handle in one sitting."_

"_So Mohinder was __**with**__ you?"_

"_Well I did manage to lock myself in a closet after around twenty or so cookbooks toppled down onto my head, but I broke out of there fast. I'd rather pay for a new doorknob than stay in a dark closet."_

"_I remember Peter told me I might be able to find some actual chai tea in there, but I didn't find anything. The cookbooks found me instead, because the closet's light was out. Funny thing is, I don't even __**know**__ how I actually came to be locked in there."_

"_Fine... Anyway, what took you __**so long**__ to get up here?"_

"_I was checking something out __**down the hall**__."_

"_What?"_

"_Turned out to be __**nothing**__."_

"_Sylar, just... hell, nobody here gives a __**damn**__ about your apparent __**undying love for Peter **__now, okay?"_

"_Okay... Who here among us __**knows**__ they killed Angela?"_

"_**Not**__ me, either."_

"_Did __**you**__ kill my mother?"_

"_No. And now that you know I am telling the truth about not having murdered Angela, I __**suggest**__, Peter, __**you think of a more useful ability to replicate from me for the time being**__, because I don't think your __**current one**__ is going to __**help you out much**__ in __**more dangerous situations**__."_

He knew.

"Oh my God..." Peter mumbled, once again appearing as if he were on the road to shock. No. Oh no, he was already _there_ again. "Oh my... oh my fucking God..."

"What is it, Peter...?" Claire asked, sounding just as concerned about him as she authentically was.

"I-I know who did it," Peter said, silently. He was about to turn around, when Sylar grasped onto his hands with both of his own.

"_Don't_, Peter," he said with a sense of desperation. "_Please_, I-I _**promised**_ that I..."

Peter instantly shook his hands free of Sylar's. "You've been _**covering**_ for the person in here who _killed_ my **mother** and _that's_ _**all**_ you have to say to me? When you _knew_ the **truth**, _all this time?_"

As loud as Peter's exclamations had been, a few of the guests were wondering if he really _had_ been trying to wake the dead.

Claire looked to her uncle, worriedly. "Peter... tell us what you know."

He stood fully once again, and despite Sylar's protests, turned around to face the others in order to tell them what he knew; his eyes falling on the person who he _now_ knew to be the person who had murdered his mother.

"You actually _thought_ you would get away with this?" Peter asked, before he began his imminent explanation. "Having your own memory erased the times you did... that _was_ smart. Then, when Sylar had already figured out it _was_ you _right_ from the start, he knew how to phrase the lie-detection question he asked all of us _just_ right so that you could answer and _still_ appear innocent, and since he knew I would lie-detect him right back, he also knew because of the _way_ he had phrased the question to you that he could get away with false honesty."

Peter glared sharply at the person he was speaking to. "Then, however, someone _else_ here got wise to you, too," he said, pointing his finger, "so _you_ had to have _them_ taken care of as well, since after their little suggestion, _someone_ had to gather the glasses from the cabinets, right? Powers don't work so well when you're _drugged_, do they? At least until now... Mohinder."

Remaining relatively on the calm side, Mohinder managed to successfully appear confused. "Peter, I seriously have _no_ idea what you are talking about."

Peter smirked at him. "Maybe you wouldn't have before, but you most certainly do _now_. After you killed my mother, René, meanwhile, was in Nathan's room with Claire... where I'm betting he gathered a few vials of her blood so that _you_ would be able to get your memories back _after_ he had erased them from you once the 'game' was over with... the game my mother _lost_ to _**you**_," he said, seething. "In fact, after you left me with Sylar in the bathroom, I bet gathering a couple beverages was _really_ just an excuse for you to have privacy long enough _to_ heal your memories up... Hell, if you could get your greatest enemy here to cover for you, surely getting your best-friend here to cover for you wasn't much of a problem by the end, either..."

Momentarily, no one said anything...

...Then, a small smile graced Mohinder's facial features, and he rose from his seat next to Matt, walking towards the hollow space that separated the lounge from the mansion's primary room of entry...

...Where none other than René soon stepped into view.

Everyone in the decorative den, for the most part, appeared shocked to the point that one might think they had all been struck by a lightning bolt bearing the highest possible voltage capacity.

Mohinder shrugged casually, almost as if the situation had become a joke to him. Then, he thought about what Angela would say, about one turning their life into a joke... and that's what _Angela_ had done to herself, and the joke was _death_, because _that's_ what she had been, _and_ what she had deserved.

"Out of _all_ the people to figure _all_ of those things out... I never _once_ suspected you would be the one, Peter," Mohinder said, almost as if he were praising him. "Okay... I did it. For the record, though, I really did _not_ want to, and I gained _no_ pleasure out of the admittedly horrible act I committed. I did what I did because I _had_ to, _not_ because I wanted to."

Noah furrowed his brow. "But what about all the _other_ clues, the quartz, the windows, the—"

"Well isn't that _obvious_?" Peter said, momentarily looking at Noah. "He was trying to _frame_ Sylar!"

Mohinder nodded. "That I was, among other things. Honestly, Peter... his devotion to you in itself is _sickening_, so by doing what I did, I was _also_ trying to show Sylar that _**you**_ would be _**no**_ different towards him than _**any**_ of the others when the finger was pointed at him," he said, folding his arms while his shook his head slightly. "Unfortunately, Sylar caught on to my lies in the beginning just as quickly as Matt caught on to my thoughts in the end. Obviously covering my ass was supposed to be Sylar's sorry way of making his amends with me, and while Matt acted like he knew nothing for awhile, I knew that he _did_ know, especially once I rejoined him in the kitchen, and especially after the drugs used to suppress his telepathy had worn-off that I had earlier outlined his brandy glass with. But, you know... he's such a _good_ friend. Every time he started to catch on, he would play along like he knew nothing."

"Tell me," Peter said, voice barely above a whisper. "How did you manage to get away with this? With any of this, for as long as you did?"

Mohinder sighed a little. "I suppose it went a little something like this..."

0.0

"_I read them over... all of them."_

_A nod. "Yes, she sent them to me, and I forwarded them to you as you requested."_

"_And I set a time stamp that will delete the majority of those e-mails in her account by seven o' clock..."_

"_I know what you are thinking, but this is a choice you must make on your __**own**__. Some believe abilities like ours are merely genetic evolvements, but I believe they are gifts from God."_

"_God didn't give me my ability. __**I**__ did."_

"_Angela is not a god, nor are you."_

"_But __**playing**__ God when you __**have**__ the power to... that's how wars are started to __**begin**__ with..."_

0.0

"_So you will be there?" Mohinder asked._

_René nodded. "Yes, I will."_

"_Just make sure you erase my memory that we __**ever**__ had this conversation. One of the letters in my pocket says 10:00 P.M. on it, and I won't open it until then. After that... everything will be taken care of, since I gave myself specific instructions on what to do."_

0.0

"_I __**know**__ you're up to something, Mohinder..."_

"_Why do you say that?"_

"_Because you've been __**lying**__ through your teeth __**all evening long**__."_

"_If that's the case, then why have you not said anything to the others?" Mohinder inquired._

"_Because... Because..."_

_Mohinder nodded at him. "Yes, that's right... because you're '__**so sorry**__'. By the way... should you get __**any**__ thoughts about telling a __**single**__ person here anything you __**think**__ you may know, I will make __**sure**__ Peter goes back to hating you just as much as I __**still**__ do and __**always**__ will."_

_Sylar sighed. "I understand, Mohinder... I-I won't say anything, unless I have to..."_

0.0

"_I promised I wouldn't show these to anyone else, but..."_

"_What are they?"_

_Matt huffed, and handed over the several sketches he had earlier drawn._

_Mohinder flipped through them, temporarily pausing on the second one. "Ugh. Not again."_

"_Yeah, those were my thoughts, too."_

_Mohinder fought the urge to roll his eyes. "I disdain the way __**their**__ story has taken over the story that should belong to __**all**__ of us."_

_Matt arched a brow. "Huh?"_

"_I'm serious. I am so sick of hearing about these two that I almost don't even want to be around Peter any more than I do Sylar."_

"_I didn't say anything before," Matt said under his breath, "but I did notice that the whole 'nightmare land' ordeal seemed to disturb you more than it did the majority of us, well," he shrugged, "minus me, of course."_

_Mohinder shrugged lightly. "Why wouldn't I find it disquieting? Sylar's infatuation with Peter is sick as ever now, and to make matters worse, Peter is pretending like he hasn't even acknowledged the change while inadvertently exhibiting random displays of returned affection towards Sylar that's merely masked by anger or apathy."_

"_O... kay," Matt muttered. "I really hadn't put quite __**that**__ much thought into it, but I'll take your word for it given the fact that you're usually right in the end."_

_Mohinder then looked at the third and final drawing, pausing once again. "The clock..."_

"_What about it?"_

_Mohinder shook his head. "Nothing," he said, placing the drawings back into their original order. "After looking at that, I would just be inclined to believe that something horrible could happen at around eleven o' clock tonight."_

"_My thoughts exactly," Matt replied._

_After handing the drawings back to him, Mohinder said, "If I were you, I would go hide these __**right**__ now. I won't say anything, because none of us needs any one of us here having a conniption fit." While Matt seemed to be thinking the issue over, Mohinder added, "I would know after witnessing some of the fuss that Isaac's paintings caused firsthand, even __**after**__ his death."_

_Matt nodded in agreement. "That's true, and since I definitely agree with you on that one, I'm going to find a safe place to put these for now," he said, turning and walking away._

_When Matt had left the kitchen, Mohinder, meanwhile, remained. He made sure no one else was around, and then, brought a prepaid cell-phone to his ear._

"_Yes," he said into the phone. "I need you to take care of something, or should I say someone, real quick..."_

0.0

_Having just murdered Angela Petrelli, Mohinder knew he had to act fast..._

_René had suppressed Mohinder's strength while out in the hall, otherwise, Angela's form would have appeared entirely mutilated considering the manner to which the murder had been committed._

_He had made sure he had worn black, since it was harder to spot blood on such a dark shade, but that didn't mean he needed to change any less. René entered the Petrelli Office, holding an ebony shirt identical to the one Mohinder was wearing, minus the obvious splotches and spatters of fresh blood. René had also just finished paying a little visit to Claire down the hall._

"_Damnit, what have I done?" Mohinder said, more to himself than to René._

"_You had no choice," René replied. "The guilt you feel... it will fade with time."_

"_I don't see how," Mohinder said, ripping at the bloody shirt on his body before he had even pulled it over his head. Having torn a straight line down the shirt's front side center, Mohinder had also managed to rip a couple of smaller fragments of the shirt right off, but he honestly couldn't have cared less at the moment. Hell, he had just __**murdered**__ someone._

_René handed him the replacement shirt, which Mohinder promptly put on after having handed René the torn and bloody shirt. Then, looking up at him, Mohinder said, "I'm going to go wash my hands and remove any traces of the... blood, and get back to Matt. I think the nerve suppressant I spiked his brandy with is wearing off, so you may have to wipe him again if he gets too close to the truth before the timing is appropriate..."_

"_Understood, Dr. Suresh," René said, handing him an identical set of vials._

_Mohinder accepted them, and wearily, nodded his thanks. "I imagine Matt would like his memories back too, after all... and if we wait too long the memories could be unattainable. I'll try to remind him that this was all for his own good, and that of __**everyone**__ else's..."_

_The last thing Mohinder did before exiting the room was turn the hour hand of the clock on the wall forwards by __**exactly one hour**__..._

0.0

"_Mohinder... where were you?"_

"_I locked myself in a closet."_

_Matt didn't appear all that convinced. "Are you... sure...? You seem, uh, upset about... something..."_

"_Well wouldn't __**you**__ be upset if you had locked yourself into a closet you couldn't get out of?"_

_Matt thought about it. "Well, yes, actually... But, well, couldn't __**you**__ of all people have just __**broken**__ the lock...?"_

_Mohinder forced a laugh. "Oh come on, Matt," he said, waving his hand at him. "If you really want to prove otherwise, try pulling some of that 'mojo' of yours."_

"_That's the thing," Matt said, rubbing idly at the back of his head, "it's been off in a sense almost __**all**__ evening, and I've noticed that I can barely get more than a word out edge-wise when it comes to my telepathy right now," he shrugged, "but I guess it must be the alcohol."_

"_Don't worry, that is the feasible explanation, so I'm sure things will change for the better later on..." Mohinder turned, whispering, "__**Things**__ are always changing..."_

0.0

Mohinder appeared to be done recollecting; he had explained enough about that.

"That pretty much covers it, I suppose," he said, while everyone else, meanwhile, remained silent. "However... there were a couple things I hadn't counted on. I touched Angela's files, so when Sylar gathered them to examine, I knew he _would_ know what I had done, and I hadn't realized I had left the torn piece from my shirt in Angela's study where he later found it, until after it was too late." He turned his head, temporarily looking at a specific set of onlookers. "There was also the incident where Ando and Hiro hacked into Angela's e-mail account and found the e-mail she had sent to her anonymous accomplice, and I couldn't prevent Angela from sending the e-mails she did send out _after_ the clock hit seven. However, I did not give Hiro or Ando the chance to find out the accomplice in question, who just happened to be René, had in fact allied with me," he said boastfully. "Still... I get the feeling Angela knew that. In fact, going by the way her 'dream diary' was worded, she _knew_ it would be me who came out the victor all along. What she _didn't_ know was that _I _would actually be the one to kill her."

"The victor?" Peter said between teeth. "This.. is.. _**insane**_.." he seethed, "_**You**_ _are_ insane."

Mohinder rolled his eyes all over again. "Come on, Peter? And Angela _wasn't? _I know more about what she was really up to with the Company than _anyone_ here does," he said, holding up his hand the second several of the others were ready to speak. They weren't going to, not until he was finished. "Angela was planning on putting every single one of _us_ into lock up, no matter _who_ we are, or _what_ we can do. I am talking about _everyone_ with abilities, and in an even cruder fashion than Nathan had planned for us all. I have a feeling most of us would have never seen daylight again had that plan of hers come to pass, so instead... I came up with a better plan for the Company. Instead of locking everyone with abilities up until the 'media' dies down over the incident in Central Park, we alternatively only lock up those who are or plan to _willingly_ expose themselves to the public, and hopefully, we can _reason_ with them, and then, let them _go_. Problem solved. After that, those of _us_ who wish to live _normal_ lives out of the public eye can be _free_ to do so."

"You're _still_ insane." Peter leered, his dark eyes still locked with Mohinder's, though somehow, Mohinder's eyes seemed darker at the moment.

"No," Mohinder said, remaining perfectly at ease, "I am very _sane_, actually. Also, I am afraid there is nothing you can do about it, Peter. When I killed Angela, she had been expecting either me, or someone allied with me, and she left something on her desk for me... which turned out to be the paperwork putting _me_ in charge of the Company. I intend to get the right people together fighting for the right cause this time, so that innocent people will _never_ have to be hurt or caught in the crossfire _ever_ again."

As he continued to stand there with René at his side, Mohinder took a good look at the others. "So, I guess 'the most suitable time' has come now... who among you all is with me?"

When Noah Bennet walked over to stand with Mohinder, Peter could _hardly_ believe his eyes.

"What can I say?" Noah said, staring back at Peter from his new standing point. "All the evidence pointed to Sylar from beginning to end, and since I knew he didn't go out of his way to frame himself, I had eventually figured out Mohinder _was_ behind everything – I just didn't know he would choose to reveal his actions to everyone like this or I would have confronted him on my own after we had all left." He looked at Peter as apologetically as he could. "I _am_ sorry for your loss, but his plan is actually relatively _decent_ compared to what Angela's was."

Mohinder looked at Matt. "Come on, Matt... I was really hoping _you'd_ be with me on this. Just think about it... your family will be protected, forever, with your help, and that of your friend's. You know you were thinking about it... otherwise you would have exposed my actions to the others a long time ago. I saw you, upstairs, when you looked at the clock plated on the wall... You may have promised Peter and Claire you wouldn't show those sketches of yours to anyone," he smiled at him, "but of _course_ you would show me. I know you heard me thinking about it later..."

Matt sighed, and stood... before he too joined Mohinder. Meanwhile, Peter continued to wonder how many other people had _known_ about Mohinder's well-played deceptions.

Out of the corner of his mouth, Ando whispered, "Wow, we were _both_ pretty close, Hiro."

Mohinder looked to Hiro and Ando. "And how about you two? We could sure use you both, after what René and I found out from Angela... this war is going to get _very_ malevolent. The government is going to turn on us. I know neither of you are fighting on their side, so why don't you fight on _our_ side? The _right_ side. You'll be _saving_ lives _every_ day if you do."

Somewhat regretfully, Hiro stood from his seat, followed by Ando, before they too made their ways over to where Mohinder and his progressively forming group were standing. Hiro honestly didn't want any part of this in any way whatsoever, but if Mohinder had ulterior motives for the Company the way Arthur Petrelli had for Pinehearst Industries, at least this way, Hiro would have granted access to inside information, and Ando's thoughts were the same on the matter.

Tracy didn't wait for an invitation; she knew it was coming, so without word, she too stood, and made her way to the assemblage. She didn't want anything to do with the Company either, she knew, but then she remembered what Angela had stated about 'hunting or _being_ hunted', and hell... after what she had seen from people like Mohinder and Noah during their darker moments in the past, whoever turned down Mohinder's proposal might just be the one or ones labeled with Angela Petrelli's murder...

In fact, maybe that _was_ what Angela had meant when she had stated 'hunt or be hunted' _all along_...

Now, that just left Peter, Sylar, and Claire...

Peter looked at his niece with an unmasked sense of desperation. "Claire... _please_, don't," he said quietly, and unfortunately, he already had a bad feeling about her decision.

Claire shut her eyes, tightly. "Peter... I have... I have no choice. What Angela said to me about... being locked up for one-hundred years, I... I can't stand the _thought_ of it, and if I work with the others, maybe I'll _finally_ get the chance I used to want... the chance to help other people _like_ me, _and_ the ones I care for... If my father can live a double life... so can I... And before Nathan lost his life, he too made the choice to sacrifice everything for what he believed in when he was prepared to reveal his ability to the world, before he then _did_ reveal it at the hotel," she said, a traceable hint of admiration in her voice. "So now, I have to be willing to do the same as him, once again..."

Following her words, Peter watched in unadulterated horror as she too joined in on the madness. Hell, in his eyes, it _still_ was madness. What else _was_ it?

Peter looked to his right, noticing that Sylar had finally stood from the armchair.

Mohinder eyed the both of them. "Peter... taking into consideration the unfortunate circumstances regarding your mother, I am going to give you some time to think on it... Sylar, as for you, I find it _very_ hard to believe you have changed, but your loyalty to me throughout this entire night _did_ take me a bit by surprise," he said, shrugging. "In a way... you actually chose _me_ **over** _Peter_. Huh. Imagine that. That said, I suppose I _can_ give you a chance to work for the Company again..."

Sylar narrowed his eyes. "Never."

Mohinder raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I said, _never_," Sylar stated.

Peter looked up at Sylar, and then, back across the room to Mohinder. "That goes for me, too. I don't need any time to think about my answer. My answer is _**no**_. Also, Mohinder... I'm _not_ letting you get away with this. The Company is _evil_, and it's _always_ been evil, and now, despite your seemingly good intentions... _you're_ evil, too... _again_," he said, glaring at him all the while. However, his tone seemed to imply a joint mixture of anger, and pity. "The future... it _can_ change, but certain things about it never seem to... Explosions still occur, earthquakes still happen, a loving brother still dies every time, people change for the worst... and even for the better..."

"I really don't understand you, Peter." Mohinder sighed somewhat regretfully. "'But a bad thing done with a good intention'... A 'neutral act', as she would say... Though once again taking into account what I did to Angela, I have no choice for now but to try to understand where you are coming from. My only question is... what now?"

Standing tall, Peter said, "I think we both know the answer to that. I have yet to see or hear of a single future where you had not either turned, or fallen victim to your own ideals, so I know what's coming."

Peter said nothing more for the moment, steadily walking his way across the room. He had no intentions of attacking anyone, though he supposed that René would take care of that if he had any thoughts of him doing such a thing. Peter made his way to Hiro, and lightly touched his shoulder.

"I am sorry, Peter," Hiro whispered.

Without word, Peter turned, and walked back across the den to where Sylar was still standing in silence.

Peter then placed his hand on Sylar's shoulder, and looked upon the others. "I really hope I'm wrong, about everything, and about all of you... Goodbye... for now."

And with that, he teleported both himself, and Sylar, out of the Petrelli Mansion.

One mystery had been solved...

...only for another one to begin.

0.0.0

"Peter... what are we doing up—"

"That's not important," Peter said, cutting off whatever it was Sylar had to say, though apparently, he had wanted to know why Peter had chosen to teleport the both of them to the roof of the New York Times Building of all places. But Peter didn't have time for some snarky, witty remark about how he had always liked the scenery up there this time of year, much less for a more truthful explanation on how teleporting on autopilot had always been a nice way to take an impromptu vacation to the most randomly unplanned locations.

"Well now what?" Sylar asked.

Standing close to the tall, gated ledge he had walked his way to after distancing himself several yards away from Sylar, Peter didn't even look back when he replied, "For now, I guess we'll just have to... wait and see. But I know things are gonna get bad, and that I have to be there, to stop it..."

Suddenly, Peter felt the tight, intruding grip on his shoulders from behind.

"You mean _we_ have to be there," Sylar whispered.

Peter turned back around, looking up at him. "Why, Sylar? Why? What Mohinder said... about you choosing him over me... he was right. Tell me _why_, damnit. Why you would... lie to me, and keep me in the dark about my _own mother's_ death all that time, for him?"

"I suppose this is what she meant," Sylar whispered, his dark eyes averting away from Peter's.

"What was that supposed to mean?"

"When Angela told me that acquiring forgiveness from those I had caused harm to could not be my only means for attaining redemption or that I _would_ fail..."

Peter shook his head to a barely noticeable extent; still appearing as if he were in a state of partial disbelief. "Unbelievable," he said, emitting a short groan. "So now, you are trying to tell me that hiding the truth really _was_ your way of trying to make amends with Mohinder among others?"

Sylar sighed. "What would you have had me do, Peter? Begin raising hell the second I began to catch on to his plans? No one would have believed me, not even you... Mohinder was right about that much. You... _were_ no different than the others when the finger was pointed at me," he said, words trailing as he continuing to stare off to the side. "And if I had chosen to intervene with what were not only Mohinder's plans, but Angela's as well, it would have ended in a bloodbath where I had once again become my own victim... I really was only trying to do as Angela had wished, which was for me to do nothing..."

"How can you say that to me, say that I wouldn't have believed you?" Peter asked, looking him in the eyes even though Sylar still wasn't looking at him. "_I know you_. The only reason I continued to treat you with such unkindness like I did is _only_ because I _knew_ you were holding something about my mother's death back from me. I could _feel_ it. Had you just... told me the _truth_, I _would_ have known, with _or_ without lie-detection. I would have taken your side."

Sylar couldn't help it. He smirked. "Oh? Even after all the little jokes everyone was throwing around about 'us' all throughout the evening? Don't think I didn't notice how much they upset you."

Though the storm had surely died down, a brief flash of lightening overtook the clouded sky, before a moderately loud crash of thunder was heard in the distance.

"Sylar," Peter sighed. "If those jokes of theirs had really upset me that much, I wouldn't even _be_ here with you right now... for I finally realize _as_ of now what my mother meant when she said... when she said I had her forgiveness..."

Sylar furrowed his brow. "Her forgiveness?" he asked, tilting his head a bit. "Her forgiveness for... what?"

None too slowly, Peter closed the distance between Sylar and himself, until it seemed like there was barely an inch separating their bodies; if that much, even.

Chin raised, Peter stared Sylar in the eyes. "My forgiveness... for forgiving you, and for..."

_I watched, watched in sheer disbelief as my most beloved son presented that monster of a man with the gentlest kiss. Somehow, however, I didn't need my ability to know something like this would happen in the future, for deep down, I had always known it would come to this._

_I know either Mohinder Suresh, or someone allied with him will lead to my inevitable death on this day, just as I know everyone will side with him in the end, with the exceptions of Peter and Gabriel. I know the Company will run smoothly for awhile, but just for awhile, for after a while, Mohinder will come to realize that sometimes, there is no other alternative to caging those who will not listen to compromise, and that when one plays God, answering the prayers of some will inevitably crush the hopes of others._

_As I sit here now, I can't help but wonder to myself if anyone will ever find this final page of my diary of dreams, for of course, I shall remove it. Thanks to Bridgett but moreover myself, Sylar will know, but I know he will say nothing; not until he feels the timing is appropriate._

_Recalling the real ending to this final dream of mine, I once again realize how I learned one of the most important lessons life __**ever**__ had to teach me..._

With ease, Peter pulled away from Sylar, carefully studying the expression on his face. "What are you thinking?" he asked quietly.

After remaining silent for a few agonizingly long seconds, Sylar smiled at him. "The lesson of how what I thought to be answers were really questions in disguise... all along."

Peter couldn't contain himself, and chuckled. Just a little. "What? Where did _that_ come from?"

Sylar looked down, though more at the pavement than at Peter. "You don't seriously want to ruin the moment with more of my 'philosophical BS', do you?"

"Gabriel... if I wasn't willing to put up with _that_ to begin with by now, _every_ moment with you would be ruined."

"I see," Sylar smiled. "Well, in that case, once again, what now?" He shrugged. "I mean, what becomes of _us_ now?"

Peter was about to speak, when Sylar chose to do so in his place when he said, "We save the world?"

Peter raised an eyebrow at him again. "Are you _sure_ you're not a telepath?"

At this moment, Sylar chose to emit a low chortle. "No, I'm not. I know you, that's all."

"You don't know everything about me," Peter replied.

Sylar raised a hand, and brought it to Peter's face, gently running the back of his hand down Peter's cheek in the lightest ghost of a touch.

"I admit," Sylar whispered, "that there were a few more things I always wanted to know about you, but never had the courage to ask."

"That's funny," Peter whispered casually. "I always wanted to know 'a few more things' about you, too, though I always had the courage to ask," he smiled at him, "I just chose not to. Now... let's get out of here."

"And go where?"

"Wherever we want."

"And you're not going to try to change the past while you still have Hiro's power?" Sylar asked, though deep down, maybe he already knew the answer to another of his own inquiries.

Peter sighed, and took a moment to gather his words. "No. No, I'm not. I made that mistake once, and I'm not making it again. Besides... my mother had apparently made up her mind, and the last time I came back from the future, she knew before it ever happened. She wouldn't have gone through all the trouble she went through if she'd known it was all for nothing."

"You speak as if you've already put thought into this," Sylar said, his tone suggestive, but curious.

"Maybe," Peter rose at least two feet from the ground, "that's because I did."

Looking up, Sylar stared at the other man, seemingly in awe... but not from the fact that Peter was flying, but rather that he had made the decision to leave things as they were even before he had teleported them out of the Petrelli Mansion.

"Now, let's go," Peter said as he continued to hover. "We have plans to make, or at least, I know I do... but first..."

Sylar then rose into the air as well, until he was at eye-level with Peter. "First what?"

"First... well, follow me, and find out."

Following his words, Peter rose further and further up into the clearing sky.

_And sometimes, you can't get to a dream without going through a nightmare, but what is a dream? What is a nightmare? If life the real dream, or the real nightmare? The decision is ours to make, but one must be willing to take that single step, and the greater the risk, the greater the fall... or, the greater the rise, and the gain. Most people will never know what they are truly capable of. The things you never did..._

"Because you might die trying," Sylar whispered to himself, chuckling a little. "I should hope so, Angela. If more people thought about the rewards than the consequences, there wouldn't be _nearly_ enough heroes to go around..."

He flew up into the sky, joining Peter once again, before together, they took off into the night.

0.0.0

"It's gone..."

"What's gone?"

"Nothing," Mohinder told him. "It was just a piece of paper that had been in my pocket. _Sylar_ obviously obtained it somehow, I'm sure..."

"Hmm," Noah uttered, turning his head, eyes falling upon Claire. She was standing outside on the front porch with her back to the doorway.

"Well," Mohinder said, hands fisting, "wait until 'Gabriel Gray' is named as the intruder who murdered Angela Petrelli last night, and we'll see if his luck with the law is _quite_ so lucky as it was last time..."

As he continued to stare at his daughter, Noah asked, "And what you did... it really had less to do with your opportune revenge on Sylar and more to do with aiding the world and people like you?"

"That is correct," Mohinder replied. "What happened here tonight... it's only more proof that even if some people can change, some things about them never do."

After speaking, Mohinder walked away from Noah, to where most of the others were still standing.

Noah remained standing still as he was, just like Claire, once again turning his attention to her.

Claire continued to stand in place with her arms folded, looking up at the clearing sky, whispering, "And it's always better to die trying _for_ – and not because of – a person, or a cause..."

_-End_

0.0.0

**A/N:** Thanks for reading!

When my beta-reader read over this, she made a list and crossed out suspects she had eliminated, and she eliminated Mohinder pretty early on. After she had finished the fic, I told her I had been worried that I had made it way too obvious that it was him, but she said that since I wrote the story, I was naturally going to feel that way, lol.

Also, in the crazy dream I had in June of 10' that this was based on, the same characters were present, plus Nathan, and they were all locked in an airport where Angela was murdered, only Nathan was the killer. (And while that dream did seem like a nifty plot, I had no idea how I would have made that work, lol.)

Well, please review, if something nice can be said. :)

Peace!


End file.
